


And It Poured

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Disordered Eating, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Forced Prostitution, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Murder, Murder Mystery, Pining, Power Dynamics, Women In Power, Woobie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-04-16 02:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14155011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Something is happening in New York City.





	1. The First

Alfred had always loved mornings like this. The sun had only just begun to creep up on the eastern horizon, and it glittered with pinks, oranges, and reds over the Hudson River. It was nice. Calm. Peaceful. The air was always fresh when he was this high above the city. It was delightfully chilly, the kind of coolness that made you want to stay outside in shorts just to see how long you could brave it. Alfred closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. This was why he loved New York City. He dug his phone out of his pocket just as it began to ring.

“Alfred,” the voice sounded hushed and hurried. Kiku was on the other side of the city, bustling through the busy streets of the Upper East Side. It was still quite early, but as it’s said, the city never sleeps. He struggled to juggle the coffees he’d bought for the two of them. Alfred promised that he’d pay him back later, but he never did. Besides, Kiku bought them from a cheap family-owned place hidden from most of the public’s view. He liked supporting small business.

“Kiku,” Alfred began as he jogged down the flights of stairs. He hated exercise, but Kiku was always reminding him about it anyways. He had a bad habit for eating out and the only times that he ever ate homemade food was when Kiku was feeling generous.

“Are you on your way to the station? You know the new chief is really anal about punctuality.” Alfred smiled lightly as he exited the building. He sifted through his pocket until he found his keys and unlocked his car.

“I love the way you talk. Anal. Punctuality.” Kiku groaned in feigned annoyance. Alfred could hear the smile in his voice, though.

“Just…don’t be late, okay? I heard some rumors about people getting laid off—“

“Don’t worry about all that. I’m sure she’s nice.”

“I’m sure she’s going assert her dominance. She’s a woman, Alfred. People are already skeptical of her.” A passerby, no doubt late for the interview of his life, shoved Kiku into the red brickstone of the station’s walls. When he recovered, he pulled the arm up on his sweater to reveal a mean, smarting scrape. Blood was flushing up from the surface in tiny droplets, and if he wasn’t mistaken, a bruise was forming underneath it all as well. He hissed softly and began blotting it with a napkin.

“You okay?” Alfred asked, his voice coloring with a concerned tone.

“Just peachy,” he responded, his voice sounding a bit distant. He strolled into the station and was making his way towards his office, when out of the corner of his eye, Kiku spotted a capable-looking woman hunched over some documents. Immediately, he wished he hadn’t seen her. She glanced up, smiled, and beckoned him over. Kiku tried to reciprocate, but it came out as more of a grimace. That must be the new chief. He felt his heart rate pick up.

“Kiku? You still there?”

“I’ve got to go,” Kiku almost ended the call, but he decided that he sounded too harsh.

“Hurry up before your coffee gets cold,” he added before clicking “end.” Alfred is left confused, and the chief continued to motion him over, this time with a tinge of frustration. Kiku slid into the spacious room. It was a corner office, covered by floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides and mirrors on the other two. Kiku could see his distorted reflection in a mirror just behind her head. He cringed, hoping he hadn’t looked like that all day. The chief smiled and gestured towards the plush brown chair in front of her.

“Please, take a seat.” Kiku only nodded.

“Are you nervous?” His face flushed. In the summer, he’d be able to tan dark enough to mask the color, but New York was in the middle of the rainiest season it had ever had. Kiku’s skin hadn’t felt the sun in weeks. He shuffled his feet and attempted to smile.

“Is it apparent on my face?”

“Just a bit. Why are you nervous?” She asked, her eyes somehow piercing and suspicious at the same time. Kiku hesitated before answering.

“I’m not sure.”

“That’s no good, is it?” Kiku’s eyes shift downwards to the nameplate bolted into the desk. Ms. Erzsébet Héderváry. He figured it’d be nice to put a name to the face. When he looked back up, her eyes were still on him.

“I admire emotional stability in the people that work under me. Are you emotionally stable?”

“I believe so.” She smiled genuinely.

“That’s nice to hear.” Kiku tried not fidget anymore. He willed the color in his cheeks to fade.

“I’ve heard only good things about you,” she traced a pen lazily across some paper, marking it up with ink. Kiku wondered why that bothered him.

“Roderich and I were very close. Did you know him?” Kiku noticed the use of the past-tense and shook his head. Erzsébet tutted.

“That’s a shame. He was just like you. Smart. Calculating. A real charmer. It’s terrible what lung cancer can do. I always did tell that bastard to stop smoking.” She motioned at the bowl of mints and other artificially-flavored hard candies on her desk. Kiku frowned.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“He’s not dead, but he’s not far from it. Doctors give him around eight months…? That is, if I can trust my memory. I’ll visit tonight and ask again.” She uses her fist to pound herself on the temple.

“Maybe I’m the one with cancer, who knows? I’m so forgetful that I just might have a tumor or something.” Kiku was unsure of how to respond, so he opted instead to keep quiet. There was an awkward silence that seemed to only be awkward for Kiku.

“What is it that you do again?” She asked, having decided that the lull in conversation had dragged on for too long.

“I analyze blood splatters,” Kiku trailed off for a moment, “among other things.” She clicked her pen disapprovingly.

“That’s a curious thing to say.”

“Hmm?”

“Answer me with a ‘yes,’ at least.”

“My apologies.” Elizaveta waved her hand dismissively. Kiku wasn’t sure if he was going to like this woman. Though it was true she hadn’t done anything worthy of his distaste yet, he couldn’t help but notice the strange vibes emanating from her. Her green eyes were bright, but they hid something dark that Kiku wasn’t sure if he wanted to discover.

“I said, that’s a curious thing to say. ‘Among other things,’” she stopped scribbling on her paper, “what other things?”

“Just practical detective work.”

“So you’re in the field?” Kiku shook his head quickly. He’d always left those sort of tasks to Alfred. Though he was sure he’d be successful if he tried, he really did enjoy working behind the scenes. Alfred like to be the hero. It worked out. For some reason, it made her frown.

“And why not?” She leant over the desk.

“Well, I just had never thought about it.” She mulled over that answer for a moment before standing.

“I like you, Kiku Honda. You seem reliable. I’m going to go to you first before I make any cuts.” Kiku paused.

“Cuts?” Elizaveta gave him a look as if he was stupid.

“Yes, cuts. Everything we do here costs money. It’s all very emotional, I know. Are you worried you’ll lose friends?” Kiku scratched an itch behind his neck. He wasn’t even itchy.

“I fear there may be a conflict of interest there.”

“The fact that you brought it up negates that, doesn’t it? If you were planning to pull strings around here, you wouldn’t have shown me the thread, would you?” Kiku guessed not.

“I’m counting on you,” she said before checking her watch. Instinctually, Kiku’s eyes dropped to check his. 10:11; four minutes before the meeting would start. Erzsébet held the door for him as he walked out. She quickly made her way towards the meeting room, her heels click-clacking menacingly against the newly-polished tile floor. Once she’d disappeared behind the closed door, Kiku turned the corner and stumbled into Alfred.

“Kiku! You’re just the guy I was looking for.” He took the coffee from him and takes a sip. Despite all of his efforts to rush, it’s cold.

“Looking for me?” Alfred nodded and gripped his friend by the wrist. He began to haul him outside and towards his shiny red car, bought new. It was a present from an old friend for his thirtieth. It was certainly an expensive present, but Arthur had the money to throw around. Kiku stumbled over his own feet.

“Slow down. What about the meeting—“

“Screw the meeting! We’re heading to East Harlem’s Chinatown. Gilbert and Ludwig are already there, and if his voice is any indication, it’s bloody.” Kiku’s entire body tensed with apprehension. I’m going to go to you first before I make any cuts. Alfred dropped his arms by his side, the keys of his Jeep jangling in a tune that somehow sounded just as impatient as he was.

“What’re you standing around for?” Kiku worried a groove into his lip before stepping into the passenger side of the car. It was quite possibly the worst time to disobey direct orders. He wouldn’t show her the thread.

“Nothing. Let’s go.”

 

Yao waited for thirteen minutes and forty-four seconds before the police had shown up. He read somewhere that it was supposed to take only seven. He guessed that it would not have made much of a difference. He’d been sitting in a pool of Mei’s blood for over an hour now. It was just thirteen minutes and forty-four seconds ago that he had built up the courage to call for the authorities. A man — two men — dressed in blue uniforms were pulling him off the ground. His limp body was dragged haphazardly,, the blood from the bottom of his shoes smearing across the wooden floor. The air was rank and humid, and each shuddering breath that he took was as if he was breathing in water. And he was, wasn’t he? He was drowning, surely. The pain in his chest and the blood on his hands told him that he was dying. He gripped the blade until his knuckles turned white. There was no doubt. The white men were saying something in their English language that he couldn’t understand. There were bits that he could decipher, though.

“What’s he got a knife for?” Gilbert used his free hand to gesture at Yao. His other hand was tasked with holding the flashlight needed to see even a few feet in front of himself. The room had zero windows, and Gilbert could only assume that the landlord had cut off their utilities. Ludwig finished talking to someone on the phone.

“I just spoke with your friend Aaron. He’s on his way with Kiku and some more from the CSU.” Gilbert pulled a face. The man was now out of his immobilized state and was beginning to crawl away from them. He made a move to stop him, but once he found that he had moved to cradle the girl’s head in his lap, he let him go.

“I hate it when you ignore me. I asked a reasonable question.” Ludwig sneered.

“Really? What was it?”

“Why does he have a kni—“

“I heard you the first time, Gilbert. Don’t worry yourself about the intricacies. It’s not our job. That’s Andrew’s.” Gilbert rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, huffing in annoyance.

“His name is Alfred.”

“Whatever.” Ludwig eye’s fell on the Chinese man doubling himself over the girl. He put her at around sixteen years old, judging by her young face and underdeveloped body. She wore the sort of childish makeup you’d find in the complete boxes advertised at Claire’s. The sight of someone so young being so brutally murdered made his stomach turn. The man stared at her with hollow, dead eyes that unnerved both Gilbert and Ludwig.

“You don’t think he did it, do you?” Ludwig doesn’t answer. He just swallowed once, gritted his teeth, and seized the man from underneath his arms once again. He immediately tensed underneath him and began to thrash.

“Grab his legs. We’re moving him.” Gilbert took several steps back, his hands shaking and jostling the flashlight, sending light beams all over the room.

“Maybe that’s not a such a good idea,” Gilbert shouted, “seeing as how he has a knife in his hands?” Just then, the tremors shivering through Yao’s body grew forceful enough to shake the dull blade from his grip. Ludwig nodded for Gilbert to take his legs. He sighed and acquiesced.

“Lift on my count. Three, two, one!” Gilbert let out an exaggerated huff of air as they heaved Yao’s body into the air. They hesitated for a moment, pausing to decide where to put his body before setting him on the nearest dingy sofa available. His body sank into the material and dust particles flew into the air at impact. Gilbert sneezed. As soon as their hands were off him, Yao scrambled off the bed and leaped back to Mei. Ludwig put a strong hand on his chest, restraining him just long enough for Gilbert to cuff him. Once Yao realized he was trapped, he sat down.

“There. Now if only Anthony would quit taking his sweet time—“ Heavy footfalls followed by slightly softer ones made their way down to basement. A better word for the place was a cellar, but Alfred was never one for semantics. Each stair creaked horribly under his weight and he was rudely reminded that he hadn’t worked out in a while. There was a bit of a pudge on his belly now. He’d make it a priority to ask Kiku’s advice when this was over. He turned the corner and froze when the corpse came into view. Gilbert poked his head out from behind the half-wall.

“Alfred. Kiku. This way.” They followed him closer to the girl and the Chinese man still struggling against his binds. Kiku gasped lowly. When he looked up at Gilbert, he had a fierce look in his eyes.

“You cuffed him?” Gilbert held his hands up in defense.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he trailed off as Kiku held his hand out expectantly. Gilbert gave in and passed him the key. When he approached, Yao visibly became distressed and began to thrash from within his binds and, in the process, rub the skin off from his wrists. Alfred stood from behind, arms crossed disapprovingly. Gilbert was rattling off some excuse of his behavior, trying to justify himself, but Ludwig was as cold and standoffish as ever. He expected a least a little remorse from the two of them.

“I’m trying to help,” Kiku whispered in hushed Mandarin. It was the first time that he’d been able to understand fully what someone had said to him. Yao stared up at him with those same soulless eyes again. Then, recognition.

“You… Kiku…” Alfred, Gilbert, and Ludwig turned to face him. All three of them had busied themselves with collecting evidence and snapping pictures beforehand, but now, all eyes were on Kiku.

“How does he know your name?” Alfred asked. Kiku only shrugged, putting up a front he hoped was thick enough to hide his anxiety. He slipped on his blue nitriles and dropped Yao’s knife into a ziploc baggie for safekeeping.

“Not sure,” he shuffled past the group and passed the baggie to a nervous-looking rookie cop. He recognized her as Lili Zwingli, a new recruit climbing the ranks via nepotism. Her brother, Vasch, was well-respected amongst the force, and although Lili had never been much interested in anything other than her nursing degree, somehow she had ended up in the family business anyway. She looked up at Kiku with a bemused look on her face.

“Take that back to the lab, please.”

“Yes, sir,” she mumbled before turning to take off, more than happy to leave a room that smelled so intensely of death. The girl, who had since been identified as Mei Xiao, was being carted away in a black body bag. Kiku would glean what he could from the crime scene, but he’d wait for the autopsist to make any final decisions. Lili’s hands shook violently as she held the bagged blade; thankfully though, she managed to make it out the door without dropping it. Kiku was in the middle of consulting with a police officer who had been first to respond to the scene when Alfred tapped his shoulder. The cop looked up at Alfred, then back at Kiku before excusing himself.

“What was that about?” Kiku took Alfred’s hand by the wrist and placed it off his shoulder and down by Alfred’s sides. His smile was placating.

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” Kiku began, making sure to appear as busy as possible so that this line of questioning would, hopefully, give way to something more business-related.

“That guy knows you. He knows you by name. Do you know him?” Kiku stared at Alfred for a long while. He was never one to lie. It only took a few moments for Alfred’s eyes to widen in realization.

“How?”

“I can’t say.”

“You can’t or you won’t?” Kiku’s eyes narrowed in the way that they did when he was annoyed or irritated, but too dignified to obviously express it. Alfred had been a frequent recipient of those looks since the moment they’d met.

“I’m not going to have this conversation here.” Kiku consciously separated himself from the group of officers who were trying desperately to over hear their dialogue. Manhattan natives were addicted to gossip. Alfred followed him to an uninhabited section of the floor. He spoke in a hushed tone.

“Kiku, if you’re in trouble, just tell me. You can trust that I’ll—“

“Alfred, please.” Kiku was about to fire off a witty quip that would have left Alfred speechless when his phone went off. Alfred gave him a look that said “this is far from over” before he answered.

“Kiku Honda here.”

“It’s Chief Hédeváry. There’s been a bit of a development and I’m in need of your expertise. Don’t waste my time about it, either. I’m really anal about punctuality.”

 

 

 

 

 


	2. An Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ahh i love iggy

“That is precisely why I think we should go forward with our new procedure. Judging by the responses that we’ve garnered from the vox-pop polls, the public is unhappy with the direction BritCorp is taking.” Arthur let his head drop onto the table with a satisfying  _ thud,  _ bringing his fingers up to his temples to try and massage away the headache that was eating at his skull. The rest of the members of the board loved to treat him like a child.

“Our stock has done nothing but grow since we began to show interest in the Middle East. Speculation is a powerful tool and I intend to use it. I like the direction I’m taking. Who cares what the public thinks?” There were murmurs from the older members, but no one had the courage to outwardly contradict him. They had too much respect for his father to do that.

“Mr. Kirkland,” an old man began. His beard was grizzled and grey, and despite his efforts to mask his age with Botox treatments and testoterone pills, he looked as ancient as ever. Arthur thought him to be about three times his age. The use of his last name, especially with the title in front of it, irritated him. Mr. Kirkland was his father —  He was just Arthur. 

“I was close to your father. I knew him very well, and I must say, I think he’d be very disappointed with the complete lack of responsibility you have shown.” Arthur doesn’t lift his head up from the table, but he does lift an eyebrow. 

“My father is dead. What does he have to do with me?” 

“It is that kind of behavior that—!” A slightly younger woman (who Arthur recognized as Ms. Lucille Bonnefoy) placed a hand on his shoulder and mollified him for the time being. She cleared her throat before she spoke.

“We’ve made great strides in many areas since Mr. Kirkland has taken his seat as chairman. I am eternally greatful for the age of prosperity that you have brought upon BritCorp,” Lucille gestured to the rest of the people sitting quietly around the table, “I am sure that the rest of board agrees with me wholeheartedly.” Arthur smiled. He loved being flattered almost as much as he loved fast cars and beautiful women.

“However,” she began. Arthur frowned.

“It’s crucial that we harness the power of public opinion to be used in our favor. People don’t trust the Russians, it’s as simple as that. Your drinking habits do not help our situation.”

“It’s my choice what I do with my time. That’s personal.” Lucille bit back a harsh, wolfish laugh. She settled instead for something more subtle: a sneer.

“My, haven’t we just celebrated your thirty-third last spring? You’re far too old to believe that anything you do here, inside or outside of the home, is private.” Arthur cheeks flared red with frustration. He crossed his arms over his chest. 

“I’m not folding here. We’d be losing too much value.” Lucille and the rest of the board let out a collective sigh. They’ve been on the same issue for weeks. Truly, they all should have known better. Arthur wasn’t famous for his flexibility —  if he wanted something, he got it. Lucille bit her lip. The brat may have been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but he was smart. She was smarter.

“I suppose we will have to make a compromise, then. Improve the public’s opinion of you or face an impeachment vote.” Arthur paled only slightly before regaining his composure. Lucille had noticed his shift in demeanor, but said nothing. She had no reason to flex her muscle anymore than she already had. She glanced around the table, attempting to guage the reactions of the crowd. They were mostly silent, yet some nodded in affirmation of her proposal. The others, bound by their laws of neutrality, kept their stone facades. Arthur smiled again, but there is zero mirth in it.

“Compromise? What compromise? Have you forgotten the definition? You’re giving me an ultimatum.” She doesn’t back down.

“Take it or leave it, Mr. Kirkland.” Each syllable is punctuated with enough vemon to rouse some of the board members from their apathy. Others were scribbling down notes in their journals, but most were listening intently. Arthur hardly noticed the beady, piercing eyes on him.

“I can crush you.”

“I bet you can, sir, but I know you won’t.” Arthur stared at her, fuming, for a few moments before rising from his seat. He made his way halfway out the door before muttering that the meeting was adjourned. Lucille smiled. The old man who had too much work done spoke up again when Arthur had left.

“You’re playing with fire, Luci. That boy will stop at nothing— “

“You’re a fool, Amos. All of you lot are. You don’t give him the credit where credit is due. And that,” she glared, “is a very fatal mistake.” Amos sputtered, stumbling over himself in an effort to find the right words. Lucille just stared at him.

“Surely, you don’t mean to say that you agree with him? And what he’s planning?”

“Well, of course I do. There’s oil in the Middle East —  and lots of it. If we have to go through Russia before claiming our spoils, then so be it.”

“The same Russia that’s backing the civil war in Syria? Killing hundreds of thousands?” Lucille stood from her seat. She really did hate it when people tried to appeal to her emotions. She’d gotten rid of them anyhow.

“All’s fair in love and war.”

 

“You’re in New York? Why?” Alfred hadn’t meant to come off so harsh, it was just that it seemed like the world was testing him at the moment. They’d brought in Yao for questioning a few hours ago, but he was refusing to comply with anyone’s demands. He was more than happy to drink up all of the coffee they offered him, though. Every once in while he’d speak in Mandarin and whisper out a “Kiku,” but other than that, his lips were sealed. Alfred had left the station that day feeling worse and more uneasy than when he had entered. Kiku swore that there was nothing to worry about, but the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach wouldn’t go away. He hated worrying. He hated having to worry about Kiku, specifically.

“What do you mean ‘why?’ I wanted to see you. Aren’t you excited to see me?” 

“Of course I am. I haven’t seen you in months, buddy! I’m just surprised, is all.” Arthur nodded politely at the cashier who handed him his order. He promised himself that this would be the last time he’d eat McDonalds. Though he would never admit it out loud, he liked fast food just as much (if not more) than Alfred. He took a bite of his Big Mac and practically moaned into the telephone. He was dreadfully hungry. An impromptu, eight-hour flight did that to a person.

“Arthur…?” He swallowed quickly, pushing the brown paper bag away from him. He’d have to have a bit more tact next time.

“Hmm? What was I saying? Oh, the meeting with Chief Héderváry, about that—” Alfred let himself sink into his downy white sheets, his mood deflating just as quickly as the memory foam underneath him. Though there were no springs or coils, Alfred swore that he could hear the mattress creaking underneath his weight. A hand drifted down to pinch at the skin around his midsection.

“You weren’t saying that, actually. I thought you wanted to see me, not my boss,” Alfred said, his fingers still playing with the bit of fat on his stomach. He pinched it until it turned red and threatened to bruise —  and then he pinched it some more. He’d go for a run later.

“Why not both?”

“You shouldn’t mix business with pleasure,” Alfred whispered, too prideful to admit that he was hurt by Arthur’s nonchalance.

“I wouldn’t call seeing you a pleasure, exactly…”

“Arthur, I’m serious.”

“Are you now?” The line went silent for a moment. Arthur used this chance to start working on his fries. He took one bite, decided they were too salty for his tastes, and pushed that away from his body, too. The silence was almost making him feel guilty.

“Al?” the only indication that Alfred gave that he was still alive was a low hum. Arthur continued.

“What’s the matter with you? You’re quiet. Sad. Words that have never been used to describe you.” Alfred fidgeted. Every time he shut his eyes, there was that vision again. It was Kiku, not Mei, on the ground, shuddering from blood loss. And he’d be pale, so ghostly pale that it would force Alfred out of his trance. He felt like throwing up again. 

“Just some case,” Alfred tried to inject some cheeriness into his tone, “it’s been a while since anything real has happened. I’m a bit wigged out. Guess I’m out of practice.” Arthur laughed as he stuck another fry into his mouth. It wasn’t too salty, he just loved to lie to himself. He stuffed three more in before speaking again.

“Here’s what I think. You’re very smart. I wouldn’t be friends with you if you weren’t, but I can bet there’s a million other people in this city who are smarter,” Arthur said, thinking himself to be quite the motivator. He hadn’t broke out this sort of pep-talk since their boarding school days.

“Wow. That really boosted my self-esteem.”

“What I mean is that you shouldn’t be afraid to ask for help. You’ve got a habit of always placing shit on your own shoulders. Be selfish. Delegate. More heads are always better than one.” Alfred let himself smile lightly. It was the most cliché, trite piece of commentary that he’d ever heard, but it was well-meaning, so he didn’t care. He had a question, though.

“Easier said than done. Do you even take your own advice?” Arthur took another bite of his sandwich. Alfred noticed for the first time that he’s eating.

“How do you think I get anything done? I make other people do it.” Alfred could see a streetlight flicker from outside his apartment window. Usually, he’d find the whole thing a bit creepy, but all that he felt right then was a blissful calm. It was nice, too nice to be ruined with talk of his work.

“How’s Peter?”

“The brat? Being annoying as ever! He got his degree and now he wants to move in with me —  can you believe it? He knows I can’t say no to him and he uses it against me. Not to mention he brings that Wendy girl over any chance he can get. You know, if I had half a brain, I’d…”  Alfred allowed the sound of Arthur’s ranting to lull him into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

 

Kiku was sitting across from Yao again. Héderváry had sent him in to try and extract something from him again. The last time, he had offered him coffee. He brought only water this time, per her request.  _ Don’t be any nicer to him than you have to. If he doesn’t speak, we have no leads. Force it out of him.  _ Kiku sighed, seeing that he didn’t have much of a choice. He slid the bottle over his way, but Yao just stared at it.

“It’s water,” Kiku said. He recieved no verbal response. Yao stared at the bottle before seizing it with hungry hands and guzzling nearly half the bottle in one go. Kiku doesn’t flinch. He figured that after sitting in the same chair for three or so hours Yao would be thirsty. When he finished, he tossed the bottle and they both watched it roll across the floor. Neither of them moved to pick it up. He sat up straighter and Kiku leaned in, expecting for Yao to finally spill.

“Speak the language I taught you, not this American language. It’s demeaning,” Yao spit, speaking in perfect English. Kiku puffed out a bit of air; he’d always known how to speak English, he’d just wanted to be difficult. He shook his head. No, Yao had just wanted to make sure the station would have to use Kiku as a translator, forcing the two of them to speak alone. Strangely, Kiku felt more grounded knowing that he was being manipulated. It would’ve been a lot more unnerving had he thought Yao to be genuine.

“How do you recognize me?” Kiku asked Yao furrowed his brows and his face crumpled into something that made Kiku’s head start to pound. Even after all of the years that had passed, he still had so much influence over his life, his emotions, his everything.

“How could I not? What, you cut your hair and now you think you’re a different person? Look, I haven’t and never will be closer to anyone than I was with you. You were my brother. You and I were supposed to—”

“I don’t want to hear this.” The pain in Kiku’s head was threatening to split his skull into two. Whether it was a coincidence or not, Yao’s presence was bringing on another migraine. The lights were far too bright in this room.

“Yes, you do. You could’ve let those man beat the fuck out of me, but you didn’t. You uncuffed me.” Kiku stared at Yao for a long moment.

“You were never able to get rid of your heart. You were too kind. You felt too much. That’s why you could never make it on the streets. That’s why I had to do what I did—” Kiku slammed his hands against the table, sending a tremor through the metal and up through Yao’s elbows. He stopped talking, momentarily shocked by his outburst. His cheeks were flushed red and the color was slowly creeping in both directions, up to his ears and down at his collarbones. He was sure that Yao was delighting in this. He’d always loved to toy with him.

“Exactly. Exactly like that. You live with that poker face on, yet you get overwhelmed so easily. You haven’t changed even a bit.” Kiku was seething, but he wouldn’t let Yao get any deeper under his skin than he already had. He hated to admit it, but there was some truth to his statement. That fact alone, just thinking that Yao still could know him so well after everything, was enough to make his blood boil. He exited wordlessly only to meet face to face with Erzsébet. She smiled.

“Done already? I knew I could count on you—”

“If it’s not too much of an inconvenience, I’m hoping that you can take me off of Yao Wang’s case.” She stared at Kiku with a strange look in her eyes. She was clearly disappointed, but there was something else there that he couldn’t exactly make out. It reminded him of a look that Yao used to give him. He felt his headache come back on for a second wave. She’s left dumbfounded, and for once in her life, Erzsébet Héderváry isn’t eloquent.

“Er, well, sure. If that’s what you’d like,” Kiku nodded and she took a moment to gather her thoughts, “what is this about?” Kiku was hesitant to answer. Instead of waiting for him to devise some sort of lie, Erszébet just waved him off.

“It doesn’t matter. Don’t tell me. Just… take the night off.” Kiku nodded wordlessly. She watched him leave. It wasn’t her nature to be so forgiving. She crossed her arms over her chest. Roderich would say that she’s gone soft. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two updates in one day??  
> do i have a life? no  
> its spring break so i'll spend 50% of my time out w friends and the other half with writing


	3. Revelations

“Do you think I’m a bad person?” Alfred was sitting across from Arthur in a fancy bistro Arthur had picked out. He’d had been adamant about this specific venue, citing its famous albacore and other types of fish that Alfred had never heard of.  _ Don’t order steak, _ Arthur had whispered aside to him as they walked in. When he inquired as to why, Arthur had only given him an unreadable look. He figured it must be some sort of unspoken, upper echelon code that he’d never understand. He’d taken Arthur’s word and ordered a salad. Though they were surrounded on all sides by the Upper East Side’s elite, Arthur could not look more at home. The place was candlelit, even though it was only just around noon. Alfred sighed; he was about to break the bank over a meal that’d probably tide him over for fifteen minutes at most. The career path he chose was honorable, but paid a pittance. Arthur seemed more than content to waste his money on albacore, so Alfred would humor him.

“A bad person?” Arthur nodded. There was always something with him. If Alfred had a habit of over-eating, Arthur had one of over-thinking.

“You make questionable decisions.”

“I know.” Arthur drummed his fingertips against the table out of habit. It had started as a way to cope with stress when he was younger, and before he knew it, he’d become dependent on it. Alfred had taken to people-watching, choosing to stare out the windows of the restaurant over watching Arthur worry a hole in his lip.

“Do I need to improve my image?” Alfred didn’t look away from the window. There was a man out there conversing tersely with whom he only assumed was his girlfriend. The pair of them were young and dressed very casually for the part of town that they were in. Every now and then, the girl would turn away and cross her arms over her chest as if she was leaving, but she’d be quick to turn around again whenever the man opened his mouth. It made Alfred frown.

“Do you want me to tell the truth?”

“Yes,” Arthur took a sip of his lemon seltzer —  a drink that (to Alfred) reeked horribly of the bourgeois. It fit him well.

“You could try not to drink as often.”

“Well, Alfred, you kind of need water to survive—”

“Alcohol.”

“Oh,” Arthur realized, his voice falling both in pitch and volume. His mind drifted off to the many times he had gone out, promised himself to a few drinks, and woken up at home with a splitting headache and a freshly-printed tabloid recounting all of his failures. He pulled absentmindedly at his hair, frustrated beyond belief.

“Do I have a problem?” He muttered under his breath, the question directed more towards himself than anyone else. Alfred stared at him for a few beats before returning to the window. The young couple was still there, still arguing. It was only when the man slipped the girl (who Alfred now realized was particularly young) a wad of bills that he came to the conclusion that he’d just witnessed a john pay off a sex worker —  for service or for silence, he couldn’t be sure.

“Alfred, is something the matter?” He’d had to take a moment to clear his thoughts. He was naive to think that any part of New York was free from crime. Here, though, it was more organized than anything he’d ever seen before.

“I’m fine.” Arthur’s face screwed up.

“I didn’t ask how you were. I asked if something was the matter.” Alfred was still trying to determine the difference between the two when their waitress pulled up from behind him, balancing two dishes on her right hand and refills on her left. Arthur was shameless, ogling her as if he’d never seen a woman before. Alfred nailed him in the shin under the table, earning for himself a slew of curses. The waitress gave him a once-over, seeming to not have noticed the entire interaction. 

“Please, enjoy your meal,” she departed as quickly as she had come. Arthur was left to massage at the bruise that would soon be forming on his leg.

“What was that for?”

“Don’t be gross.”  

— — — — —  

“No Ludwig?” Feliciano hadn’t bothered to look up from his work. Kiku was always allowed to visit him, whether it be at the coroner’s office or at home. He had just finished washing his hands when he turned to face Kiku, who was busying himself by reading over pamphlets about funeral homes. He’d always found it peculiar how homes would advertise something so dismal with bright, bold letters, finding it almost irreverent to the dead and their families. He attributed it to the many banes of capitalism. 

“It’s just me today. I hope that’s okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Feliciano’s smile was sweet and sincere. Kiku wondered how someone as bright and positive as he was could make it as a pathologist. Once they’d gotten close enough that Kiku found it appropriate to ask, Feli had been surprisingly blasé about it.  _ Closure means a lot to people, I think. Stuff like this comes easily to me, and I’m helping people, aren’t I? It’s a win-win! _

“You came for the case report on Mei Xiao, right?” If he was being truthful, Kiku hadn’t come on business at all. Ever since he had joined the force, their relationship had been on nothing but a downward spiral. The two of them (Feliciano and Ludwig) had only been growing closer over the years, and Kiku couldn’t help but feel left behind. Of course, he always had Alfred to lean on if he got too lonely — he hoped. Reading up on a case that he had willingly taken himself off of was, at the very least, tasteless. Though he couldn’t lie, his interest was piqued.

“Yeah,” he managed. Feliciano gave him a long look. Kiku had always been told that he was a terrible liar and he inwardly crossed his fingers, hoping that Feli had at least retained his obliviousness over the years. His hard glance gave way to a smile.  _ Yes. _

“Great. Alfred came by for it a few hours ago,  but I hadn’t finished yet,” Feliciano scratched his cheek sheepishly, “I hope he wasn’t too mad. You’ll pass the information along, right?” That would depend on what the case file contained. Feliciano ducked into his side office before emerging with another thick stack of official-looking documents. He placed them neatly inside of a folder and handed it off to Kiku. 

“It’s horrible, really. She was so young and already so frail. It was a wonder she survived the rape.” Kiku’s eyes snapped up to meet Feliciano’s hazel ones. 

“Rape?” He motioned towards the paper stack with his free hand. Kiku decided to attribute Feliciano’s apathetic air to his environment and not any personal character flaws he might possess.

“It goes more in depth inside. I’m just guessing here, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she was fighting off a rapist.” Feliciano tilted his head to reveal his neck from behind his shirt collar and began to draw invisible hatch-marks there with his fingers.

“Tons of bruises and scratches on her neck I assume from strangulation,” his eyes began to glaze over, “she might have been screaming —   they may have resorted to that to keep her quiet. It was the gunshot that finished her, though. It clipped right through her aorta, she bled out in minutes."  _A gun?_   When he had first seen Yao huddled over her dead body, clutching that knife as if his life had depended on it — he had assumed the worst. The worst part was that despite all of the animosity he had towards him, Kiku couldn't help but feel relieved. Feliciano jumped when Kiku placed on hand on his shoulder. He was never one to show affection so outwardly and _definitely_ not through touch. Anyone would be a bit surprised. He cleared his throat.

“Anyway, gang affiliation is likely if her tattoos are any indication. Toxicology screening came back positive for crack cocaine —  most likely tar, low quality stuff. Considerable damage to her heart and respiratory system; she must have been smoking it.” Feliciano looked at his hands and sighed. Perhaps this sort of work got to him more than he was willing to let on. Instead of pressing, Kiku decided to change the subject.

“This is a really great help,” he began. Feliciano hadn’t looked up and Kiku took a seat next to him, balancing on the ledge of a nearby countertop.

“Truly. It’s just like you said, right? It’s closure. We’re one step closer to the end of all this.” Feliciano cracked a small smile, starting with just the tiniest twitch of his lip before breaking out into a full grin. Kiku colored, believing that he had said something wrong.

“It’s just … It’s always the other way around, you know? I’m supposed to be the happy one; I'm the one who's supposed to be giving the pep talks. It was unexpected, that’s all.” Kiku wasn’t sure if he appreciated that side of himself. The thirty-second personality analysis that Feliciano had given him wasn’t something he would dwell on. Feliciano stood up and escorted Kiku to the front door, all the while chattering incessantly about some thing or the other, possibly to distract himself from the growing sense of unease building in his stomach. Kiku thought he’d overheard something about spaghetti bolognese when they’d made it to the door.

“I really do hope that you and Alfred can figure something out. I know it’s childish of me to think like this but… it’s almost like things are getting worse, right? Like it’s more dangerous to live here than ever before? And I’m worried for Ludwig and Gilbert and the rest of you guys, too! He told me that there was this man covered in blood brandishing a knife at the two of them —”

“You should take everything Gilbert says with a grain of salt.” Feliciano chuckled as he attempted, in vain, to wring the jitters out of his hands. A nervous tic, Kiku assumed. 

“I guess that’s true. Just stay safe out there.” Kiku tried his very best to smile before exiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh writing this chapter was so hard bc i kept on thinking about the ACTUALLY INTERESTING things i was gonna write about later lmao... now that i'm pretty much past the exposition i can actually do things though!!!


	4. Fallout

Snickers or Paydays? Even in the wee hours of the morning, New York was rowdy, excessively so. There were throngs of college-aged kids parading drunkenly thorugh the streets, too wasted to realize the amount of noise they were making and too young to care. It couldn’t be helped. Besides, he wasn’t particuarly bothered by the noise, and was even less concerned when it happened at night.  Kiku had been plagued with insomnia since before he could remember. It was of some consolation knowing that others were awake just as he was. He turned right and delved deeper into the 7-11’s snack aisle, being careful not to stare directly at the achingly bright flourescent bulbs hanging over his head. There, tinged an ugly greenish shade by the light, were all the flavors of Pringles ever known to man. He rephrased his question: Snickers, Paydays, or Pringles?

“You look so familiar.” Kiku, for some reason, hadn’t immediately registered that the man at the counter was speaking to him, nevermind the fact that he was the only customer in the store —  possibly the only sober customer in any store at this hour. He looked up. The man was older than anyone he had ever seen before. His skin was dreadfully pale and yet his hair was paler, and though he must have had the strength to stand at his post for hours now, Kiku had the strange feeling that he would fall over at any moment. He pointed to himself to make sure that his statement was directed at him, earning an earnest, nearly frantic nod from the older man.

“You look so much like him.”

“I’m sorry. You must have the wrong person.” He chuckled, but the sound was stained with a darkness that betrayed everything but joy. 

“I know you. You’re from the Shout.” Kiku’s fingers tightened around his car keys, cursing his thinness for the umpteenth time that day. The man was much larger than him, and though he had no immediate reason to panic, he was more than well-acquainted with cases of harmless encounters turned deadly. He attempted to keep the conversation light-hearted.

“I don’t usually frequent nightclubs. Maybe when I was younger…” The man stepped out from behind the counter and began to approach him. His steps were slow, deliberate, and horrifying enough for Kiku to take a few tentative steps towards the door. A subcosncious part of his brain alerted him to the fact that he’d dropped his keys, but he made no move to retrieve it. The man quickened in his pursuit, snatching his only plausible form of self-defense off the shiny, freshly-waxed floor. He pressed his back against the door, but found it to be bolted shut. He jangled the handle fruitlessly, his panicked hands fussing hopelessly over a stone door that refused to budge. Then, there’s warm breath on the back of his neck.

“You dropped something.”

Kiku was only vaguely aware of the fact that he was being strangled. He didn’t much feel the man’s nails asserting a vice-grip around his neck, nor did he feel the mounting pressure in his skull that was threatening to burst. Distantly, what he  _ could _ feel were his legs kicking violently, yet accomplishing nothing.

“Don’t fight it.” And for some reason, Kiku complied. 

 

When Kiku woke up, he was greeted with the infinite darkness of his cramped studio apartment. There were no cold sweats, no screams, no nothing. His keys were glinting in the dark, catching the bit of orange light that was filtering in through his blinds. His first instinct was to grab at his neck, feeling around for redness or swelling or anything that would confirm (or debunk) his worst fears. He sat up slowly, flexing each of his limbs just to make sure that they were all still intact. Nothing was sore. He sighed lowly before sinking deeper into his mattress, debating whether or not to take the Ambien on his beside table. He’d rather not go back to sleep. The floor is icy underneath his bare feet and it sends a shock through his body that he welcomed with open arms. He wanted to feel anything except the drowsiness that came with waking. 

The first thing Kiku noticed upon entering his bathroom was that it was long overdue for a cleaning. The mirror was cloudy, streaked with hard water stains and something else that he couldn’t name. The sink is in worse condition. Much of his apartment was built either from brick or from metal, two materials that were anything but resistant to wear or cold. The rusted ice crept up on either side of the basin, and it was enough to give Kiku some pause before turning the water on. It had been a while since he spent a night at his home —  if he could call it that. In the hours of the early morning, he felt more dissociated from this place than ever. The water was warm enough for him to wet his toothbrush. The paste was too minty and it stung the roof of his mouth, and just as he knew he would, he welcomed the pain. He stared at himself as he went through the motions, numb to the world. Had the circles underneath his eyes always been that dark, that large? Kiku brought a hand up to touch his cheek, finding it, unsurprisingly, cold to the touch. Pale. Sickly. He hissed in deserved pain as he pinched, slapped, and prodded the skin, turning it red with blood. His phone was ringing at his bedside table, but the sound seemed to be travelling from miles away. His legs forced him to walk back towards his bedroom, moving on their own accord and not taking Kiku’s conscious opinion into consideration. He blinked at the flashing screen for a moment before accepting the call.

“Hello?” He recognized it to be Alfred’s voice. It seemed like the subconscious that was controlling him knew only of gross motor movements. He was silent for a moment, the only indication that Alfred received that he was there was the quiet  _ whoosh  _ of his breath.

“Kiku?”

“Alfred,” he finally managed. He was sitting, leaning up against the frozen brick walls that did nothing to retain any heat or keep any cold out. Goosebumps were starting to appear on his bare legs. Everything was so, so cold.

“Were you asleep?” Kiku shook his head, failing to realize that Alfred had no way of seeing any of his gestures.

“I just woke up.”

“At four in the morning?”

“Bad dream,” Kiku muttered, his eyes skittering into another direction as if staring in one place too long would reveal something to Alfred from across the line. He wondered when he began to fear revealing things to him. Had Alfred become more prying or had he become more reserved? Kiku shuddered in a labored breath and attempted to rub some warmth back into his hands.

“Kiku, are you okay?”

“Fine. It’s really cold in here.”

“Do you want to talk about it? The dream, I mean.” Did he? Kiku wasn’t exactly sure. It had been ominous, to say the least. Foreboding at the most. 

“I’m fine.” Alfred was hardly convinced. Kiku took no notice of it. He pressed on with the conversation. 

“Well, at least you got  _ some _ sleep. That’s good, right? Even if it’s only a few hours. Looks like you were lucky tonight.” Kiku kept a hand on his cheek. Every time that he felt as though it was getting a bit too cool, he gave it another pinch. Each time he did, more blood rushed to the surface, warming up his face temporarily. He needed to get out of this lease.

“Right.” Alfred stood up from his desk where he had been working for the past three hours, plus some odd minutes. The time had passed by quickly, hurried on its way by coffee and a few scones that Arthur had left him the day before. They were burnt and a tiny bit stale, but they weren’t nearly as bad as people loved to say they were. They went surprisingly well with the way he took his coffee, as well: super sugary-sweet.

“I wasn’t so lucky, it seems,” Alfred said as he made himself another pot of coffee. He’d had to microwave the last cup, finding it too lukewarm for his tastes. He poured in his favorite chocolate caramel creamer, and then added white sugar for good measure. He took a sip and exhaled, a dopey smile appearing on his face.

“You couldn’t fall asleep? Why?” Kiku pinched his cheek. The chill had gotten a bit too much to bear, so he’d decided to pull on a sweater. It was several sizes too large, but it would do.

“I don’t know…” Alfred winced at his lie. That wasn’t anywhere near the truth, but even someone as emotionally oblivious as he could read the atmosphere. Now, while he could hear the despondence in Kiku’s voice, would not be a good time to talk about case with who he shared some sort of bond with the main suspect. 

“It’s not as bad as it seems, though. If you drink enough coffee, you can convince yourself that you want to stay awake. It makes it all a lot more bearable.” Kiku let out a small laugh, so small that it could hardly be categorized as such, but it was enough to bring a smile to Alfred’s face.

“Did you need something?” Another pinch. Kiku tinkered around with the thermostat, resorting to draping the piece of junk in a damp paper towel. Hopefully then, it’d try to heat the room. Alfred felt self-conscious.

“Uh, no, not really. I just hadn’t heard a human voice in hours and it was starting to get to me —  so I decided to call you up at five in the morning with this shitty excuse. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” The temperature in the room was slowly climbing. Kiku could almost feel the numbness draining out of his fingers and toes. He could still see his breath condense in the air, though.

“I won’t, then,” Alfred said, trailing off when he returned to his desk to see Mei and the rest of the pictures they had taken at the crime scene. He picked it up and held it up to the light, inspecting it from every angle. Though he knew there was nothing he was going to find that he hadn’t already found in the hours that he’s studied it before, he wasn’t a quitter. Perhaps what he needed was a new set of eyes?

“Kiku, you still there?”

“Yes—”

“Do you feel well enough to head over to my place?” It was a sudden question. Kiku remembered looking in the mirror, seeing his skin, seeing  _ himself _ , and feeling nothing but disgust. He buried his head in his hands. All of these insecurities should’ve been long gone by now; he was too old for all of this. Kiku doesn’t speak for just long enough to give Alfred reason to be concerned.

“What are you worrying about?”

“Nothing,” Kiku was already pulling on his chinos and a decidely smarter sweater. He stared at the autopsy report that Feliciano had typed up for him in hesitation before stuffing it into a bag he had slung around his shoulder. Just in case.

“I’m on my way.”

 

Half an hour on the subway and a few minutes of waking was all that it took for Kiku to show up shivering at Alfred’s doorstep. He lived in a little townhouse, fit for two adults and a very, very small pet if they were fortunate. He’d only had to knock twice before Alfred opened the door, welcoming him to a endearingly messy foyer. 

“Sorry about the mess,” Alfred began, but Kiku put a hand up to stop him. He kicked off his shoes at the door, finding them to already be muddied by the sleet and slushy mix outside. New York’s weather was awful this time of year.

“You apologize so often.”

“Right…” Alfred’s home had central heating and could keep a steady temperature, much to Kiku’s pleasure. The very, very small pet he had was a tiny munchkin that was currently rubbing up against his leg. Kiku was only a bit taken aback when he picked up the cat and it made no sound of discomfort. Alfred raised an eyebrow and laughed.

“That’s odd. Strudel’s never nice to new people.” Kiku clutched her closer to his chest at that. The sweet thing gave out a tiny mewl and relaxed its muscles, settling itself into his arms.

“Really?” Kiku asked, his voice breathy and reverent, but most importantly, quiet so as not to disturb Strudel. 

“Really.” Alfred motioned for Kiku to join him in his study. It was a quaint, little room that was chock-full of character. The walls were covered with bookshelves that were bursting at the seams, ranging from medical informatics to Orwellian dystopias. There was a sweet candle burning that smelled vaguely of cinnamon, adding to the homey atmosphere. Kiku loosened the scarf around his neck: it was too warm in there to keep it on. Alfred sifted through a stack of papers before retrieving his legal notepad and the now infamous picture. Kiku leaned over his shoulder, having to force himself up on his tip-toes to get a good look.

“I know you’re not on this case anymore and I didn’t want to bother you, but God, I’ve just been thinking about this all night and I’ve kind of hit a wall…” Kiku silenced Alfred’s sputtering by taking the notepad from his grasp, examining it himself. He could finally relax his toes.

“Let’s go over what you already have.” Alfred stared at Kiku for a long moment, his eyes clouding over with something that Kiku wasn’t emotionally intelligent enough to decipher. Alfred reached out to graze his thumb over the side of his cheek, tentatively and with a grace and gentility that was starkly uncharacteristic of him. Kiku felt his breath hitch as soon as his calloused fingers made contact with his skin. The touch seemed to stretch on for hours.

“You have a bruise.”

“Oh,” Kiku brought his hand up to feel the area that he had abused just an hour or so beforehand. At that moment, he hadn’t been particularly concerned with the thought of his skin retaliating against the ill treatment. Kiku rubbed absentmindedly at the patch of purple, chuckling in the hopes of alleviating the tension that threatened to garrote the both of them. 

“How did that happen?”

“It’s hard to explain…” Alfred sighed heavily. He left the room for a moment and, moments later, Kiku heard him bounding up the stairs. He searched for something up there, the sounds of papers and books being shifted around was unmistakable to Kiku’s ears. When he returned, Alfred was carrying a familiar pamphlet. It was something that the higher-ups had passed out to every detective when they first started on the job. It was stuffed with all of the useless protocol that even Kiku, a proud rule-follower, had found horribly dull. It was something that he’d figured someone like Alfred would’ve thrown away years ago. Clearly, he hadn’t because he flipped to a page that was freshly bookmarked with a sticky note. Kiku could only watch on in bemusement. He began to read.

“When approaching a victim, it is of the utmost importance that all attempts at dialogue are tactful. Victims of physical abuse may withdraw from friends or usual activities, and become hesitant when prompted about obvious signs of abuse. Do not interview the victim—”

“What are you talking about?” Kiku’s voice was subdued, much in the way that it usually was, but missing the sort of quiet confidence it used to have. Strudel was pushing her furry head against the palm of his hand, but his arms hung limp and useless by his sides. 

“This Yao guy comes in —  our prime suspect in a murder if I may add —  and suddenly you get so distant and you have nightmares and you show up with _bruises_ on your body. I’m not stupid, okay? I know the signs, I recognize the changes in behavior, I do everything that is asked of me as an officer. Don’t make me feel like an idiot for worrying—”

“I would tell you if I was being hurt.” 

“Would you?” 

“Of course.” His answer was immediate, yet there was a strange feeling building up in his chest. Doubt? It couldn’t be. He willed for it to disperse, but it was as stubborn as the gaze that Alfred held on him. 

“Tell me, then. Explain to me what is going on with you.” Kiku went silent for a moment, thinking of how best to phrase his answer. His first instinct was to lie. Telling the truth was certainly out of the question. It would be near impossible to explain how he had, in a moment of weakness brought on by cold temperatures and self-loathing, resorted to self-destructive coping mechanisms. His silence spoke volumes.

“What did he do to you?” When Kiku stared back at him, feigning that puzzled look on his face, Alfred grew more fervent in his approach.

“On the tape, Yao said that you were too kind and that was why he had to do something. What that something is… I have no idea.” The silence after was only punctuated by the pleading look in Alfred’s eyes. He was expecting him to answer, to fill him in on his tortuous upbringing and expose all of his deepest, darkest secrets. Kiku tensed. He wouldn’t.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course I don’t! You won’t tell me!” Alfred felt lightheaded from all the screaming. Had he known that this was going to happen, he wouldn’t have had so much coffee. He couldn’t determine whether his hands were shaking so violenty from caffeine or the fever pitch that his emotions were running at. Kiku regarded him with sudden sympathy. When he spoke again, his voice had lost its steel edge, gaining instead a stilted, formal tone that he hadn’t used with Alfred in years. It seemed to startle the both of them.

“I’m sorry. There are things that I don’t feel comfortable sharing at this time,” Kiku rummaged around in his knapsack and revealed the only slightly crumpled autopsy files he’d received the day prior. Alfred’s eyes widened, but he doesn’t speak.

“I’ll leave this here with you. I trust you’ll be able to use it to your advantage. As for myself,” Kiku plucked his scarf from where he had draped it for safekeeping, “I think it’s time for me to go.” He barely made it halfway towards the front door before Alfred was on his feet, following him out into the foyer. The cinnamon scent of the candle was cloying and tasted bitter in the back of Kiku’s throat.

“Kiku, wait. Hey. I’m sorry. Let’s talk about this.” Kiku shrugged his shoes on easily, now that they’d had a significant amount of time to dry. The grip that Alfred had on Kiku’s hand used to be comforting. Now, though, staring at it made Kiku dizzy with nausea. He pressed his lips into a tight smile, whispered that Alfred had nothing to apologize for, and was promptly out the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im kind of sad now


	5. Re: Mei Xiao

Roderich was making an effort. Every morning, a nurse visited him with a smile and grizzled hair — whether it be by age or stress, he would never know. What he did know is that she’d appear at his bedside, tell a few stories to ease his isolation, and leave less than thirty minutes later, excusing herself with the alibi that she had others to attend to. He never thought himself to be the selfish type, but it seemed that all the world was too busy to deal with him. That used to be the charm of New York. Now, it only filled him with disgust. When the nurse came back round, he’d guilt her into giving him some clinical-strength sedative to knock him out. Being asleep was as close to being dead as he’d get and it was always good to practice before the real thing. Truly, he was just sleeping away the rest of his time on Earth before God finally came for him, but in his state, he couldn’t really blame himself. Not signing the paperwork for assisted suicide was feat enough. Roderich didn't even believe in God. He'd read in countless pamphlets that turning to religion in times of sickness was supposed to cure the spirit, and therefore, the body. The whole dying process was a lot harder than it looked. 

“Are you feeling sorry for yourself?” Erszébet stood in the middle of the door frame, unsure of whether to step in or give Roderich time for himself. She was too prideful to show any of her worriment on her face, so she opted instead for a warm smile, something she made herself vulnerable enough to show only to him. Roderich didn’t dare to raise his head to look at her. The painkillers were strong enough to numb all of his pain except the emotional kind. 

“Is it wrong to?” He asked. Erszébet made up her mind, choosing to make room for herself on Roderich’s bed. There was more than enough space for the two of them on the cot; the cancer had eaten away at his body, leaving only skin and bones. Erszébet forced herself to look away.

“No.”

“I miss you.” He said. Erszébet plucked at a loose string of wool unraveling itself from her scarf. Roderich had bought if for her years ago on a particularly cold Valentine’s day. She’d been younger and happier then, and much more in love. That wasn’t to say that she didn’t love Roderich, but the passion and flurry that she’d taken for granted was gone now. She clutched the scarf again, her eyes nearly glossing over at the memory. She figured that it must have cost him a fortune, but never once did he reveal to her the price. She admired the springy soft texture. 

“I miss you, too. Work is hard. There’s a lot on my plate.” Roderich reached out for her hand, clasping it in his own. He was aware that it was far too cold, skinny, and knobby to be of any comfort, but she hadn’t seemed to mind. She tossed on the cot until she was comfortable. Roderich mustered the last of his strength to loop his arm around her shoulders. Now, he could relax. He buried his head into Erszébet’s hair, breathing in her scent slowly. He had expected it to calm his nerves, but he found himself with a strange wistful, almost nostalgic feeling in his stomach. He didn’t pull away.

“Do you mind if I vent?” Roderich was slow to answer. Speaking for long periods of time dried out his throat and drinking water only got more difficult as his chemo treatments upped in frequency and duration. He shook his head. 

“I’ve mentioned Mei to you a ton of times now,” she chuckled nervously under her breath. Talking about things as trivial as workplace struggles for other people was an entirely different ordeal for them. She had no choice but to speak on the atrocities she'd seen as if they were the trite happenings that took place everywhere. It was the least she could do. Constructing the bit of normalcy that Roderich needed, that was what she was doing. She'd read that tidbit in a pamphlet.

“I bet you’re tired of hearing about it.” He doesn’t say anything. Erszébet let her shoulders relax a bit. She didn’t need to turn around to know that he was tracing shapes into the skin at her neck. She leant into his touch.

“It’s just… I feel so useless. We have one witness who won’t speak to anyone but one officer who recused himself from the case. I should be happy about that, I know. He wasn’t objective, but…”

“He was your only chance.” Erszébet nodded slowly before turning and pressing her forehead to Roderich’s. 

“Tell me what to do.” He was silent for a few moments. Her heart beat picked up a few paces —  she was afraid. Afraid of the silence. Afraid of the cancer. Afraid of herself. That gave her pause. Afraid of herself? Since when?

“They don’t play Vivaldi here.” Roderich felt her shoulders tense up again, so much so that they nearly touched her ears. His fingers rose to her hair, carding through the strands softly to mollify her. She expected an explanation.

“I can’t play the violin anymore, so I’d like to hear it. It’s weird how they only play pop music. I guess they think it makes me happier… more accepting of my prognosis.”

“I don’t understand.” She searched for something in his eyes that would give her some sort of clue as to what he was feeling, but it was no use. He was in an entirely different dimension. 

“Even now, it’s all I listen to. I don’t have much of a choice.” Erszébet only stared at him. Somehow, even after the cancer had sunken in his cheeks and hollowed out his eyes, he seemed youthful. She could tell, now, that it was her who was growing old.

“But you do. You have a choice.”

“No, I don’t—” She was cut off before she could even gather her thoughts, much less put them into words. 

“How can’t you? You’re the boss, aren’t you? If you want to listen to Vivaldi, you get up and change the station. You always have a choice. You can leave this bed whenever you want—”

“I was insensitive,” She attempted to rest her hand on his cheek. His voice was more shrill and hysterical than anything she had ever heard in her life. He was tired, that much she could tell. It was evident in the way he heaved for air, his lungs having already clocked out months beforehand. His fingers clutched at the sheets for the purchase and stability that he had been rudely denied by fate. It was never supposed to have been this hard. They’d swore that this prognosis wouldn’t hurt their relationship. To both of their surprise, it had.

“Ma’am, visiting hours are over.” The voice was small, and it came from just outside the door. She was relieved that the man had the decency to give the two of them some privacy. 

“Do you want me to leave?” He wanted to say no and when he opened his mouth, he was almost sure that it would be too desperate, the way that he’d ask for her to stay a little longer and keep him company. He hadn’t, though. He let her go. Erszébet nodded curtly and stood, placed a kiss on his forehead, and let the nurse guide her away from his room.

“It’s just this way.” She followed him out to an elevator that took them to the ground floor. The silence was heavy with discomfort that radiated off the nurse. She decided to ignore it. When the elevator door opened, a gurney and a team of paramedics rushed past them. They were efficient, all of their hands seeming to be part of one body and all their brains part of one hive-mind, but just looking at the person, Erszébet knew there was no hope. Her body was so mangled that she could only give her best guess that she was a girl. Anything else that would have been able to identify her had been so drenched in thick, viscous blood that it was completely obscured. The smell was the worst part. The air that had been relatively clean before was now stale with the scent of nickels and smoke in the air, suffocating and strangling everyone inside the cramped space. She felt her body being pulled out the elevator, she heard some words about leaving the doctors to their work, but all she saw was the inevitability of that little girl's death. And then, worst of all, she thought of Roderich.

—  

“I want a pay raise. The shit that I see everyday… it’s gruesome! I mean, you guys get to come in after a lot of it is cleaned up, but I’m the one who has to discover it. Don’t I deserve some sort of, I don’t know, recompense for that?” Alfred snapped a few more pictures at the site. Another girl of Asian-American descent, another teenager, another young woman deemed sexually precocious by her peers. The only conceivable difference between Mei and the Jane Doe was the method. He’d add all of the new information to the case report himself tonight. Judging by the way Kiku was making an effort to speak with everyone at the scene except for him, he’d be doing a lot of things by himself in the coming times.

“I dunno, Gil. You should take that up with the union.” Gilbert could tell he was distracted. He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You know, I’m glad we got to this one early. She might have a chance.”

“To talk?” It was only natural to link the murders together. At the moment, it made sense to assume that they were dealing with a serial murderer. It had, after all, only been about a week since Mei's death, maybe less. Gilbert gave Alfred a strange look. 

“I meant to live.”

“Oh.” Alfred busied himself with snapping pictures once again. There was a blood stain on the wall that looked interesting enough. Click. Gilbert watched him for a few more minutes before strolling up from behind his brother and resting his head on his shoulder.

“I’m tired.” Ludwig barely flinched. He was more than accustomed to his older brother’s antics by now. It made more sense to play along rather than to spend time and energy arguing with him.

“It’s barely past eight. Are you getting old?”

“Don’t disrespect me like that. I’m probably staying out later than you tonight.” Ludwig raised an eyebrow. He was more skeptical than curious

“Really?” 

“What’s with that tone? You can’t expect me to stay single forever.” Ludwig pushed his head off his shoulder with more force than he’d intended. Gilbert whined and rubbed at the goose egg that was undoubtedly forming on his forehead.

“I don’t want to hear about your one-night stands.” Gilbert looked up at him through squinted, teary eyes. He was a lot stronger than he looked, and he looked strong to start with.

“Who says it’s for one night? I really like this guy.”

“You probably barely know him.”

“Valid point! But I’m going to get to know him. Well, I _will_ if you promise to cover the rest of my shift.” It took Ludwig a moment to register what he was saying. When it did click, he frowned. Gilbert smiled.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m in love.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“His name is Matthew. He’s studying here, but he’s from Canada, and he works at that donut place we go to sometimes. He wants me to meet him there after his shift ends, which is two hours before mine. I’m sure that you see and empathize with my predicament.” Ludwig felt his resolve wavering. Whether he looked it or not, Gilbert was a serial monogamist. Usually, he’d meet someone, fall too hard, and get his heart broken. Then, it’d take a few months for him to get back on the horse again. To see him so willing to put himself through another disaster like that, it made Ludwig wonder if he was truly older than him or not.

“You should’ve thought about that before scheduling it.”

“Luddy.”

“Fine, if it’ll stop you from pestering me...” Gilbert smiled. It hadn’t taken much to break through that stony facade Ludwig loved to put up. It was something he and his father both shared, but Gilbert had never inherited. It was why they were so close, and Gilbert’s relationship with their father was so strained.

“Thank you.” From the corner of his eye, he spotted Kiku staring at a patch of peeling drywall with such intensity that it was almost frightening. To the rest of the world, Kiku was sure that he seemed strange, but there was something peculiar about it. He fished out his camera and took a picture for safekeeping. He swabbed the bit of grayish substance off the wall and tucked the sample into a baggie. If it was what he believed it to be, this case was about to become a lot more complex. He was so focused he barely noticed when Alfred appeared behind him.

“Soot?” He asked.  Kiku forced himself to not miss a beat. Whether he was surprised that Alfred was speaking to him or not wasn’t of any true relevance. 

“Looks like it. Can’t be sure until I get this back to the lab.” Alfred tried to nod along and appear more sophisticated than he felt. Kiku kept his eyes trained on his gloved hands instead of facing him.

“I came to apologize.”

“Huh?”

“I know there’s things that you can’t say: not now and maybe not ever, and I’m okay with that. I’m always going to be okay with that because I like you. And I miss talking to you without yelling.” There was that feeling again. It started low and almost innocuous in the way that it made Kiku’s skin deepen a few shades. The eye contact was lasting for too long, and Kiku hated himself for being the first to look away. 

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” They drift into a silence that was pregnant with unsaid words and unrequited emotions that neither of them were equipped to deal with. The soot stain on the wall was nice to look at. It was greasy and uninteresting on the surface, but it held a lot more meaning than it was letting on. If Kiku’s intuition served him well, that fouling would be from drug use, not candles. Then, perhaps, they’d start getting somewhere.

“Do you still make neekoojahguh?” Kiku turned slightly, unsure if he had heard Alfred correctly. 

“Neekoojahguh. Do you make it?”

“Nikujaga? I haven’t cooked that in years...” Kiku was stunned by how quickly he deflated.

“Oh, well, I mean, that’s fine—”

“I’ll make some tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is so short and badly written i wanted to churn one out really quickly bc i have exams the rest of this month and will be pretty busy!!! i can usually write 2k words if I get 3 or so hours to plan before actually writing so that's what im gonna try to do :)


	6. Coffee House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> me? Updating? its more likely than you think. dont get used to it LMAOOO

“Sorry,” Arthur looked up from his cell phone to face the child in front of him, “what were you saying?” He couldn’t have been older than five or six, and he stared up at Arthur with such expectation in his eyes that it frightened him. He was clearly frustrated, both of his fists were clenched at his waist in an effort to hoist up his now soggy trousers.

“I pottied on myself.”

“I have eyes. I’m asking what you want me to do about that.” The kid just stared at him, still clutching at his jeans. They were heavy what with all of the urine soaked in it. A few more minutes and Arthur was sure he’d be able to smell it. He resisted the urge to gag. This was the first step in redeeming himself, at least, that was the way his publicist had put it. The people loved to see rich, young, handsome men interacting with children. It was the turn-around he needed, quoth she. The whole appointment had only taken a few calls to set up and before he had known it, Arthur was scheduled to meet with the poor, disadvantaged children of Queens. It had started off without a hitch. He’d carried a three year old on his hip, coddled a toddler, and smiled for the paparazzi until his cheeks hurt. Once the greedy little creatures had gotten their fill, they moved on to more famous people, and left Arthur to stay and actually help with the children — something he’d never agreed to. 

“How old are you?” The child shyly held up four fingers, more ashamed that he had momentarily forgotten his age than he was for peeing all over himself. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be potty-trained by now?” The kid looked like he was on the verge of tears. The stress of having a billionaire stare at him with such contempt must have been too much for him to bear, as the wet spot on his jeans only grew larger. 

“Oh, for God’s sake!”

“Leo’s nervous.” Arthur turned to see someone he recognized as Mr. Francis, as the children called him. The only word to describe him was gangly. His limbs were long and sinewed and seemed to stretch on for miles. He wore a large black apron that was mottled with a strange, sticky residue that no doubt originated from the box of fruit snacks in the class’ cupboard. He hoisted the child—Leo—up into his arms and began to lead him to the restroom. Mr. Francis made it a few steps before turning and motioning for Arthur to follow him. 

“Me?” He asked. Francis gave him an odd look, something mixed with knowing and humor. He patted the urine-soaked jeans with his bare hands. Arthur thought he felt his skin turn green with nausea. 

“Yes, you. Didn’t you say,” Francis turned slightly to show Leo’s cute, chubby face more clearly, “that he reminded you of your younger brother? That you’d love to care for someone so small and precious?” Arthur frowned. It hadn’t been entirely untrue. Leo did have a striking resemblance to Peter, and Arthur did think him to be cute, but he was not about to do whatever he was being asked of. 

“I say that for the press.”

“You’re using children to make yourself look good? They’re just a tool to you?” If Arthur wasn’t staring directly at him, he’d think that he was actually angry. His face was contorted into a gut-churningly sweet smile. It was charming. 

“When you put it like that…”

“I think Leo would like it if you grabbed those wet wipes on the counter over there.” Francis paused. 

“Maybe some diaper rash cream. And hell, if you’re feeling generous, a piece of candy for the little guy.”  Arthur wasn’t a brat. There was something fundamentally wrong with the world if doing the things you liked and not the things you didn’t was deemed snooty or overly indulgent. Hedonism wasn’t selfish — it was human nature. He huffed out a sarcastic reply that neither of them really heard and snatched the supplies off the counter before turning to follow them down the hall. Leo was walking on his own now, clutching the wet wipes to his chest. It seemed to Arthur that the two of them were more than used to this routine. Leo ducked into the restroom with a change of pants and emerged with a smile. Arthur wasn’t sure if he heard the water running. 

“Did you even wash your hands?” Leo shook his head quickly and held up a wet wipe proudly. 

“I wiped my hands with this.” Arthur figured it was better than nothing. He made a conscious decision to not touch him for the rest of the visit. Francis patted him on his back before offering him a soft caramel.  _ Something chewy,  _ he’d said,  _ so they don’t choke.  _ Leo popped it into his mouth and swallowed immediately, barely tasting the sweet at all. Francis was hardly put-off by it. A second later, Leo was pulling on his pant leg begging for another. Francis ignored him, choosing instead to go about his other work. 

“I’ve seen you in  _ Forbes. Thirty Under Thirty.” _

_ “ _ Unsurprising. I’m in a lot of magazines.” It hadn’t been much of a question, so Arthur felt as though he wasn’t obliged to give much of an answer. It could be due to the faint, lingering smell of urine from Leo that Arthur was inhaling that was forcing him into one of his moods. Francis wrinkled his nose. Leo was still banging against his knees. 

“Goodness. Don’t be so modest.”

“Would you rather that I lied? It’s not arrogance if it’s true.” Arthur plucked another soft caramel from the plastic bowl sitting on the counter. Alerted by the rustling of a candy wrapper, Leo ended his assault on Francis’ legs and channeled his begging efforts towards Arthur. He gave in and chucked one to Leo. He stared at in wonder. Leo’s eyes shot up and he hugged Arthur’s legs tightly, nearly knocking him over.

“Thanks, mister!” Arthur smiled genuinely. When they were well-behaved, kids weren’t all that bad. Francis smirked in feigned disbelief.

“Now,  _ that’s  _ surprising.” Leo undid the wrapper of the caramel and popped it into his mouth. Before Arthur could warn him to chew this one slowly, he had already swallowed it. Francis only ruffled his hair and sent the boy on his way. A short girl around his same age was beckoning for him to join her game of House. Leo would have to be the dog of course, but he was still more than willing to give it a try. He galloped over to her without so much as a second glance towards Francis. Arthur looked around at what the place had to offer. It was more dingy than anything he’d ever seen. At first glance, the daycare was functional at the very least. Closer though, chairs were bent and creaky, floors were scuffed with burnt rubber, desks were splintering and threatening to fall apart. Truly, the place was a nightmare. Not only could Francis use the money, Arthur could use the exposure. Though most of the paparazzi had already found their way out, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be nice.

“This place is a dump,” Arthur said, not hiding the disgust in his voice for anyone. He treasured frankness and a blunt personality in all of his business ventures. Being dreadfully brusque was one of his trademarks. If Francis had noticed his tone, he didn’t mind it.

“Tell that to the American government. No subsidies for public schools, and especially not public schools in the inner city.” Arthur figured he should have expected as much from Queens. He tried not to feel to bad about it. Francis paused to survey the room before continuing.

“All I can say is that it keeps children safe on and off the streets. I try my best to teach, of course, but…”

“You can only do so much without a chalkboard,” Arthur finished, gesturing towards the ancient black board that was crumbling before both of their eyes. Francis nodded with a resigned sigh. Arthur noticed how deeply his shoulders sagged, seeing them slump until they practically coiled in on themselves. 

“It’d take thousands —  tens of thousands of dollars to renovate this place.” Arthur chewed on his lip, just as he always did when he was coming up on a brilliant idea.

“I’ll pay it.”

“Huh?” 

“I’ll pay it,” Arthur repeated, speaking faster this time as he grew more committed to the idea. Needy kids would get decent desks, Francis would get his dream classroom, and Arthur would get amazing exposure. A win-win-win. 

“On one condition… How do you do around camera flashes?” 

.-._.-.

In the United States of America, Sunday mornings were for church, late mornings, and obscenely large breakfasts. For Kiku, it meant work. He’d gotten a call at seven in the morning from Erszébet, raving about a lack of employee accountability or something or other. Could he come in? He took the subway first, then walked the next couple blocks that it took to make it into the station. On the way, he’d passed the same locally-owned coffee shop that he often frequented. He stood outside of its entrance, shaded from the grayish slow drizzle that was characteristic of New York. He was debating stopping in for a coffee, maybe two, when the door was pushed out from the other side. Two men stumbled out; one of whom stuffed a wad of cash into his back pocket. They gave Kiku a curt nod, careful not to look him in the eyes. He was sure that one even uttered out an “excuse me.” Politeness in Manhattan? It was unheard of. 

“Welcome!” Kiku immediately recognized the man standing behind the counter, beckoning him with a warm smile and a steaming cup of coffee in hand. As an immigrant hailing from Finland, he’d just began to settle down in the Land of Opportunity. The shift in atmosphere was welcomed with open arms. The warmth of the room cast an orange glow over Kiku’s face and Tino’s face was ruddy with joy, as expected. 

“I assume that you still take your coffee black?” Kiku nodded, pulling his scarf closer to his neck. A bit of tinkering behind the counter and a freshly brewed cup was sat in front Kiku’s face. He nodded his thanks and took a sip. Bitter. 

“It’s good.”

“I’m glad.” Tino made his way to the window, looking out at the dark and dreary world that was trying its damnedest to keep the sun from peeking out from behind the clouds. A chill ran up his spine and he poured some of the brew into his own cup, warming his hands around the mug before taking a seat next to Kiku.

“Your job is so busy. I figured that you’d get your order to-go.” Kiku took a long sip before meeting his eyes. He smiled.

“Am I inconveniencing you?”

“No, not at all! I love your company! Sometimes, the city is large and loud and very… in-your-face. It helps to know there are quiet people.” Tino sputtered, a bit flustered. He sank deeper into plush of the armchair, hoping that the comfort would somehow soothe away the awkwardness. Kiku ignored it.

“Do those people usually come here? I’ve never noticed them.” Tino shrugged, noncommittal. He never did pay much attention to the patrons who walked in and out of that place each day. Thankfully, his little shop was generating a lot more traffic than he had expected. Sooner or later, he’d be able to send for his family to make the journey to New York, as well. Then, maybe, he’d feel at home in this city.

“I don’t know. I can’t say for sure whether they’ve been here before or not. Why do you ask?” Kiku just smiled as he usually did. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure himself. Most sleuths would accredit it to their superior intuition —  Kiku wouldn’t. He’d already convinced himself that he was merely curious.

“I did find something sort of… funny.”

“Hmm?” Kiku cautioned himself. It was best not to seem overly intrigued. To Tino, he knew, this was simply a conversation between friends. Could he even call him a friend? Lingering on it would only distract him. Tino scratched his cheek, a tiny demure smile creeping up onto his face.

“They didn’t order anything. They just sat at the back,” Tino pointed to a cluster of seats behind them, “loitered for forty minutes, and then left. I was too spooked to ask them to buy something.” Kiku raised a questioning eyebrow.

“You were ‘spooked?’”

“Ah, no! Not like that —  I’m really, er, blowing the things out of proportion.” Tino paused to nibble at a bit of dry skin peeling of his lip. It was best not to stir up drama. This country did not take kindly to foreigners. Kiku tentatively rested a hand on Tino’s shoulder, unsure if he was crossing any bounds. It was a technique he’d been taught to extract meaningful and honest information, but something he’d never mastered. When Tino looked up at him with warm eyes, he sighed in relief.

“You shouldn’t belittle your feelings. I am… I am willing to listen.” Kiku said. Tino chuckled lightly, his face coloring with the ruddiness that all the talk about suspicious men had stolen. 

“You’re probably right.” Kiku nodded for him to go on.

“I admit, I was  _ spooked _ . One didn’t speak at all, and the other with a very gruff voice. They asked for privacy and —  you know I live here all alone and I was always told it was best not to mix in other people’s drama, but they spoke in whispers… like they were hiding something.” Tino trailed off, choosing instead to stare at his reflection in his coffee. Kiku managed to keep the conversation light. In partner work, Alfred would have been taking over here. He was always a people-person.

“That must have been something to witness.”

“You could say that again! Now, I can’t be sure about what I’m about to say...” Unable to resist, Kiku leaned in closer to capture his words. He just hoped that he was too oblivious to notice.

“I heard —  well, I thought I heard —  talk of a coup? It was really hard to hear…” Kiku was tempted to brush the whole thing off. Tino seemed like the type of person to be scared stiff by his own shadow. Even on the slim chance that what he said held any truth in it, it was way out of his jurisdiction. A coup? No, that was casework fit for the FBI. He thanked Tino for his time and the brilliant coffee, as always. Tino took his now empty cup and reached for Kiku’s, one that he’d finished a while before. He took them to the sink, washing and rinsing them quickly before shelving them. He turned back to Kiku who was readying to leave.

“Kiku!” He turned quickly to look at Tino, who was feeling entirely too self-conscious in his own shop. He shifted his weight from foot to foot a few times before speaking.

“I know about your job, but if you could keep this between us…” Kiku hadn’t been expecting that. In reality, he’d assumed that Tino was aware of his position and was voicing his fears  _ because _ of that fact. It was all quite unsettling. He forced himself to smile.

“Of course.” Tino smiled and waved him off, feeling much better after bearing his soul. Kiku couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt of that was roiling over in his stomach. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did y'all know that finland consumes the most coffee in the world (per capita)? crazy right thats why i made him a coffee shop owner lol


	7. It Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how many words do i have to write before this counts as a slow burn

“You’re messing up because you’re tense.” Lili’s forehead was practically dripping with sweat. Her face was flushed not only from exertion, but embarrassment as well. Lili admitted to hating a very select number of things, but most of all, she hated humiliating herself in front of Vasch. She tightened her ponytail with a swift, sharp tug.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, consciously avoiding the hard gaze of her older brother. Yesterday had been so perfect. The gun range had always been a place where she reigned, hitting targets easily and without even a second's hesitation. The trouble began with hand-to-hand combat.

“Don’t be sorry.” The “be better” part went without saying. Wearily, she raised her hands up in front of her face and began to shift her weight from foot to foot. Her boxer shuffle was slow and labored in its movements, and yet Vasch hadn’t thought to let up on the pressure at all. He flicked two of his fingers, motioning for her to begin. Lili sighed lowly before throwing her weakest hook of the night. Unsurprisingly, he caught her wrist with one hand and twisted it behind her back, forcing her to the ground. Lili hadn’t the energy to even let out a grunt. He stood, but she stayed, splayed out on the floor where puddles of her own sweat (and possibly others) were gathering in the pits and cracks of the mat. Each heartbeat thudded violently against her ribs, threatening with each beat to crack a few of them. Every breath was a fight that she barely won. Had she always been so out of shape? Lili couldn’t will herself to think about anything other than getting air in her lungs. Vasch offered her a hand and she took it gratefully, more than happy to be able to peel her back off the wet floor underneath her. He hadn’t bothered to mask any of the disappointment on his face. She would’ve cried if she had any water left in her body —  most of that was already lost to sweat.

“What did I tell you?” Lili wiped the bit of snot that was falling from her nose. She didn’t want to talk.

“They want to see me fail—“

“They want to see you fail. Exactly. You have to be _better_ than them.” Lili just nodded, choosing not to argue for fear of starting a fight. Vasch truly meant well, but his methods were questionable, if she put it politely. He always talked about pressure. Pressure to exceed, pressure to be perfect, pressure to set an example. Lili reached for her coat, shrugging the scratchy wool over her narrow-set shoulders. She was hot, but now that she could have a glance around the gym, the other patrons could have a glance at her. She pulled the coat around her torso a bit tighter. Lili was the only one who seemed to notice the predatory eyes on the two of them. Vasch watched her all the while, regarding her with a confused look.

“What are you doing?” Lili looked up at him from under the hood of her sweater. 

“We’re not done?”

“Of course we're not,” he spit out, seemingly in awe of either her obstinance or laziness —  Lili couldn’t be sure. She paled only slightly.

“We’ve been at this for  _ hours _ —”

“Because you need hours of practice! None of us can be sure for how long we’ll have these jobs. Chief wants well-rounded, that’s what you’ll give her. You won’t always have a gun on you…” Vasch was saying something, but Lili wasn’t listening.  _ None of us can be sure for how long we’ll have these jobs.  _ Sure, most of the force had caught on that Erszébet meant to rebuild the entire system for the ground up. Truth be told, she’d expected improvements concerning new technology in their labs. Now, she was looking at unemployment for weeks — or even months. Her eyes glazed over a bit when she stared up at her older brother. Even Vasch, with as much as he had dedicated to this place, could be shipped off. That was a scary thought.

“You’re not listening to me at all, Lili.”

“Are you afraid?” He stared at her for a long moment before sighing. She readied herself to apologize or at least explain herself, writing off the outburst as just a silly bit of twenty-three year old angst.

“Are you?” He asked, his voice considerably softer in tone and volume. Lili nodded. Who wouldn’t be? The shift in power had unearthed the latent criminality that plagued the streets of New York. The danger wasn’t just inside, it was everywhere. Vasch pulled her into his side roughly. It was the sort of hug that only felt right if it was given by a brother. She let herself relax.

“Don’t be. When has your big brother ever let you down?” Lili grinned from ear to ear.

“Never.”

— 

Make it quick. That was all that Erszébet had said before she went about preparing her office for whatever Alfred was about to say. What was he about to say? A few minutes before he had barged in and demanded conference with her, he’d been so sure. None of them were doing as much as they could  and it frustrated him to no end. One dead and another near it, and yet it seemed as though everyone was sitting on their asses. The ambience of the room had darkened considerably with the shutting of her blinds. Erszébet closed and locked the door behind her with a satisfying  _ click  _ that was just as unnerving as one could imagine _.  _ She snapped her fingers, calling attention to the watch on her wrist. Right. He had to make it quick.

“I want out in the field.” Alfred said, coaxing out the words slowly and deliberately with the resolve that he did not have. She hadn’t seemed to notice his fidgeting, and if she had, she wasn’t in the mood to point it out. She rolled the idea around in her mouth for a moment before making her position on the matter known. 

“Okay,” she said, nodding, slowly at first then gaining confidence. Erszébet stood to lift the shutters, considering the conversation done and over. Alfred sputtered for words.

“Okay?”

“Why are you repeating me?” She asked, her eyebrows raising not in question, but in amusement. She turned back towards him, leaning up against the wall with surprising familiarity. If Alfred hadn’t known any better, he would have assumed he was walking into a trap.

“I’ve only heard good things about you. So far, I trust your judgement.” A smile grew on Alfred’s face.

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself,” she warned, already regretting how quickly she had given in,  “you don’t have free reign. You’re out there for basic detective work  _ only _ ,” she said, chewing her words with deadly precision. 

“Knocking on doors, asking around, getting up close and personal with suspects, abettors, anyone who is or could be linked to anything we’ve discussed here. Report directly to me and only me. No nosy-ing about or making messes that I’ll have to clean up. Are we clear?” Erszébet asked, her voice ending in a very high pitch, a contrast from the monotone she’d used to list the rules. Alfred nodded.

“Crystal.”

“Good,” Erszébet smiled for the first time since they’d entered the office. She opened the door to the rest of the floor. People were tapping about at their computers, too busy and absorbed in their own work to pay either of them any mind. Alfred slithered himself in between the door’s opening, eager to get down to business. 

“Not so fast, Jones.” He spun back around on his heels, careful not to show his annoyance on his face. She was his boss, after all.

“Have you ever gone undercover before?” When Alfred just stared at her, she clicked her tongue in mild distaste. Amateurs: the whole lot of them.

“I mean, do you have any experience?” Alfred’s shoulders fell and shriveled against his sides, deflated. He forced himself to not take any offense. Though he was young, he was smart. He figured fooling some Harlem locals into believing he was one of them couldn’t be any harder than four years of British university. Could it? 

“Define ‘experience.’” Erszébet lost all of her aforementioned “trust” in his abilities. 

“Take someone with you.” Alfred fumed. It was no secret that he preferred to work alone. He paused; that wasn’t exactly true. He had no problem partnering with Kiku, though this wasn’t exactly his area of expertise. 

“What? Why?” 

“Because two heads are always better than one,” she said, her eyes twinkling as if she had just delivered to him some incredibly sage advice, “and because I said so.” She didn’t wait for Alfred to come up with a witty retort, choosing instead to leave in search for a working coffee machine. Alfred was left to his own devices. 

“Too many cooks spoil the broth” he mumbled to no one in particular. He took this time to have a glance around the room. Lovino was playing a computer game, no doubt ignoring his other responsibilities. He wasn't interested in enlisting his help anyways. The guy was in an eternal bad mood, always snapping and picking fights, even with the people he liked most. Alfred’s eyes drifted over to Antonio who was sitting across from Lovino, munching on some limited edition tomato-flavored Lays. He was talking about something pretty passionately that Lovino wasn’t really paying attention to. He continue to gesture wildly, all of his excitement falling on deaf ears. He’d be Alfred’s next best choice. He strolled up from behind the two of them, knocking on the side of the cubicle to alert them to his presence. Antonio perked up first, his trademark grin spreading over his honey. 

“Hey, Al!” Lovino murmured a greeting that Alfred felt contained some strong language. They both chose to ignore him.

“Hey there, bud,” Alfred’s eyes fell on the little notepad that had some scribbles that resembled handwriting on it, “is that yours?” He asked, motioning towards it. 

“Oh, this?” Antonio began, a few badly-restrained laughs coloring his speech. Lovino snatched the pad of paper from his hands. What could be so secretive about case notes, Alfred had no idea. 

“It’s mine,” He whispered, his voice barely carrying over the humdrum of the office. Antonio placed a hand on his shoulder, and to Alfred’s surprise, Lovino didn’t immediately shove it away.

“I can just tell that you’re really close to this case. I mean, who wouldn’t? Poor girl was only… what? Sixteen?”

“Fifteen,” Lovino cut in. Just days ago they’d received all of her school, dental, and medical records. Star athlete, straight-A student, practically the perfect child. Poor girl, indeed.

“Fifteen,” Alfred whistled, almost in awe of how facetious he could be, “just breaks your heart, huh? You wish there was something you could do…” Antonio was leaning in close, thoroughly invested in the bullshit that he was spewing. Lovino saw through him 

“What do you really want?” He bit out with just as much venom as Alfred expected that he would. He sighed and let his back slide down against the wall. His voice became pleading in tone. Alfred pouted.

“A partner.” Before Lovino could roll his eyes and convince Antonio to ignore his request, Alfred continued.

“Easy stuff. Was thinking the two of us would visit her school first. Just a few places around town. Wouldn’t take long…?” It sounded more like a question with the way his voice inflected at the end. The pair shared a look. Antonio’s eyes showed that he was almost sympathetic to his situation and he turned to Lovino, as if he was asking for permission. He returned his look with a blank stare. 

“Sorry, we’ll have to decline.” Lovino answered for him, who seemed a bit peeved by that fact. Never one to show his anger outwardly, he settled for biting his lip and sulking. Alfred wouldn’t take the hit too hard. 

“Thanks, anyways,” Alfred shrugged, already shifting his feet to leave the tiny cubicle. He wasn’t mad at all. Kiku was probably holed up somewhere in the basement where they kept all of the confusing technology that Alfred had never bothered to learn how to use. He took the stairs —  he did that now — taking them two at a time to make the three flights go by a little bit faster. The basement was remarkably clean and smelled faintly of antiseptic. As he’d expected, Kiku was bent over a work table with the entire top half of his face masked by a large pair of goggles.

“Keeks!” Kiku flicked the light power off on the microscope, turning on the wheels of his chair to face Alfred. It took him a while, but he managed to pull the eyewear from his face. Underneath, his face was slick with sweat and there were tiny divots in his skin left as evidence of the suction grip. He shifted slightly so that he could spy on Kiku’s work, trying to yet understanding none of it.

“Looks interesting,” he offered offhandedly, not entirely sure what the both of them were looking at. 

“Hardly. Gel electrophoresis is more involved than you'd think. It’s the information we get from it that’s interesting, not the process,” Kiku answered while absentmindedly clicking his pen against the recyclable coffee cup to his right. It had long gone cold, and he was hesitant to take another sip. That would be the last time he went to Starbucks; he figured that no one in their right mind would return, not after they spelled his name wrong and dumped approximately two cups of sugar into what could have been a palatable latte. He sighed, disheartened.

“I need your help.” Alfred said, deciding that the casual pleasantries and small talk had gone on for too long. Kiku sat up slightly in his seat in response.

“I want to speak with Yao again.” It didn’t take a genius for someone to understand what Alfred was hinting at. Kiku frowned.

“You mean you want me to speak with Yao again.”

“He only listens to you. I want to bring the dick who killed that girl to justice,” Alfred paused to eye Kiku with suspicion, “don’t you? Yao is our only lead.”  "Of course I do. I just don't want to endanger him--" Kiku was cut off before he could finish his sentence. 

"Endanger him? The only way he'd been endangered by asking some questions is if he had something to do with it. Why are you covering for him?" Kiku's lips pulled back into a tight, thin line, almost reminiscent of the way a dog would bare their teeth. when he spoke, his voice was stern and strained. 

"I'm not covering for him because he didn't do anything wrong. You weren't raised here so I'll forgive you for not knowing," Kiku snarked, "but one rumor can ruin someone's entire livelihood. Word travels quickly in the slums." Alfred's eyebrows quirked upwards.

"But that's worth it, right? If it leads to justice, it's worth it." Kiku couldn't bring himself to respond. he remained silent for a horribly long moment. 

“Promise me you’re doing this for the right reasons. Not because you want to dig into my past or because you think he did something to me,” he murmured in a low tone. Kiku's eyes were steeled with a silent determination, yet they were prone to gloss at any moment. His cheeks were splotched with shades of reddish-pinks that made him look innocent, almost child-like. Alfred could only think how particular of a contrast it was to his demeanor. He answered diplomatically.

“Of course not,” Alfred nearly reached to offer a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, but changed his mind. After all, Kiku never took kindly to people invading his personal space.

“I promise.” The splotchiness of his cheeks seemed to die down a bit along with the tension in the air. Alfred was glad for it; feeling so self-conscious around Kiku was foreign. Unsettling.

“Then I’ll help out. Just this once, alright?” Alfred leapt from his seat, the gears in his mind already whirring at top speed. He tapped his foot excitedly, unable to keep still. It seemed as though things were finally kicking into gear.

“Then what’re we waiting for?”


	8. New Beginnings

Alfred was practically forced to drag Kiku’s limp body out from the passenger’s seat and onto the craggy johnson grass of Whitton Heights Apartment Complex. Greenish-black kudzu crawled up on either side of the large apartment building, coiling off and around the trees and “decorative” bushel growing about the yard. The bricks, peeling and gray from the wind and rain, crumbled at the slightest touch. Bony trees devoid of leaves whipped and cracked, bending to the wind’s insurmountable will. It was a Saturday, so Alfred had been expecting to see some children peeking their grimy faces out from behind smudged glass windows, but he saw nothing of the sort. The entire street was a ghost town, not even the slightest mouse dared to disturb the absolute quiet of the place. The building had zero indications of of life. Alfred’s shoulders tensed against his body, his ears already prickling hot with stress. 

“You sure this is the right place?” Kiku looked at him for several moments, exasperation written clearly on his face. 

“I’m sure.”

“Looks sketchy,” Alfred murmured as he twisted his toe into the frozen dirt beneath him. Last night was bitterly cold and it showed in the frost that coated the ground in an icy sheet.

“That’s because it is. Get into your car now,” Kiku pointed to the rusty old lemon they’d rented out from a friend of a friend. The kind of car that Alfred drove would’ve put all the residents on high alert, and the key to any undercover operation was to raise the least amount of suspicion possible. Alfred figured that they must dress the part. It was the primary reason why Kiku had traded out his business casual for (tacky) skinny jeans.

“What should I do? Just wait here?” Kiku quirked an eyebrow.

“No, of course not. You’ll be canvassing.”

“Canvassing? Really?” Alfred wasn’t proud enough to stop the whining tone from creeping into his voice. If Kiku’s intention was to punish, he was doing an incredibly good job.

“Yes, really. Now go.” Alfred gave Kiku one last pouting look before hopping into the driver’s seat.

“Be careful,” he warned. Kiku pulled a face.

“I can handle it.”

“I know you can.” The car took a few minutes to start up, sputtering and wheezing out puffs of acrid exhaust into the cold air. Then it was off, screeching down the road and off towards a curve that Kiku couldn’t see behind. He watched it go, a sense of uneasiness building up in the pit of his stomach at the sight of his last escape speeding off into the horizon. He straightened a fly-away before pushing open the grubby glass doors into the worst kept apartment complex he’d ever seen. 

Dirt. Dirt everywhere. On the ground, on the walls, on some of the women’s faces. A group of three of them sat in the corner farthest away from the doors. They whispered to each other in secretive tones, giggling at something on their phones and stealing glances at Kiku as he punched “up” for an elevator. He kept his gaze low, wanting nothing less than to start a conversation with any of them. The door was just opening when one of the girls, who had been sitting just a few seconds ago, looped a coquettish arm around his waist.

“Hey there,” she cooed, her voice sickly sweet like rotten fruit. If Kiku glanced up, he’d see that her lips were coated in a deep shade of red that screamed seduction. She batted her false eyelashes with practiced flourish, yet despite all of her bravado and charm, Kiku could see clearly she couldn’t be of age. The other two silently cheered her on from their spectators’ chairs, their hooded eyes flitting around the room to seem as if they were not watching his every move. 

“You going up?” Kiku nodded. She curled her lips into a coy little smirk that bore a suggestion far beyond her years. She slipped into the elevator, making doubly sure to press her chest against his own. 

“So am I.” Yao was expecting to meet with Kiku on the eighth floor, but he’d rather not risk her putting two and two together. Yao was like a mother to these sorts of girls. A long time ago, Kiku had been like an older brother. He offered her a small smile and pressed for the sixth floor.

“You know, I don’t really do things like this,” she trailed her fingers up and down his forearm, “go out looking, I mean. Guys…  they usually come to us.” Kiku paled.

“You’re special,” she said. 

“Thanks,” he stuttered out while taking a few cautious steps to the left, creating some distance in the rather cramped space. Something about his response made her giggle. Kiku glanced at the flashing light above their heads. Floor 3 and still going up. In that moment, he wished for Alfred to be there to save him from this.

“You don’t have to be shy, you know. I can help you out along the way. I see that you’re not the most experienced with girls like me.” Kiku took her hand and lifted it carefully off his lower back. Talking, people. That was his forte. 

“Girls like you?” She nodded enthusiastically, her bouncy black pigtails bobbing in time with her head.

“Young. Hot,” she pulled up the hem of her dress, exposing a bit of pale flushed-red flesh, “Naughty.” The elevator door opened, but she hammered the “close” button until it slammed shut. The girl hit floor 14 and Kiku is stuck with her for another eternity. He steeled himself, gathering the small bit of courage he could muster up. This was exactly why he did not do field work. 

“I turn seventeen in a few months. Tell me what you want and I’ll give you a price.” The elevator door slid open again but this time they stood in silence, staring, silently urging the other to make the first move. Kiku guided her out of the elevator, an odd pain tingling  in his chest when she flinched away from his touch. Right: no sudden movements with working girls. Too often it spells for disaster. 

“Wait for me here,” he said and just before the door closed, she shouted something that he couldn’t hear over the whirring of machinery. The tone sounded affirmative enough that he allowed himself to relax and shake off the guilt, justified as it was. He clicked the orange “8” and was sent throttling downward in no gentle manner, much faster than it had taken to climb the floors, and for a moment, he feared that the cables suspending the elevator would snap. Fortunately, they didn’t and the brown doors slid open to reveal plush blue carpeting. There, at the end of the hall was the familiar door. He’d seen it at least a thousand times before. 831 was marked in faded golden-yellow paint, though it’s not as if he needed to know the number to recognize it. That fact alone was enough to sicken him.  He knocked, twice slow and three times fast. He could hear a bout of frenzied rustling from behind the door and moments later, Yao was peering at him from behind a swing bar lock.

“You’re late,” he spit, eyes squinted in annoyance. He valued his time above all things, something that Kiku knew all too well. He forced a cordial smile on his face.

“Something came up,” Yao ignored explanations, so he didn’t offer him one. He gave Kiku a once-over, eyes landing on his remarkably teenage-looking garb.

“Why are you dressed like that? FInally got tired of pretending?” Kiku tried to keep himself from letting out a frustrated huff. His patience always ran especially thin when Yao was involved. 

“Why don’t you open the door and I’ll let you know?”

“No need for the snark.” The door shut, the lock is unfastened, and Kiku is let in. If he thought the lobby was dirty, Yao’s place was on a whole other level. Styrofoam take-out boxes littered the floor, strewn about without grace or care. Some still held the remains of a greasy stir-fry, leaving what was left of it to flies, maggots, and whatever other insects found it fit for a home. Kiku nearly gagged. 

“Like what you see?”

“Hardly. You live like this?”

“Don’t take that tone,” Yao pulled a honey bun from the hoard of snacks he kept hidden under the pantry. It was evident that he retained his sweet tooth after all these years.

“I don’t want your pity,” he managed in between mouthfuls.

“I’m not offering it. The last time I saw you, I think I made it clear where we stand. I’m here on business.” Yao smirked. He tossed him a honey bun that Kiku only just managed to catch before it hit the ground.

“You like these. I remember.” Kiku tossed it back.

“Not anymore.”

“You really like to think that you’ve changed. It’s cute,” Yao took an exaggerated bite of the honey bun. A bit of icing fell at the corner of his lip.

“I didn’t come to bicker.”

“No, of course not. You just came here to accuse me of killing my closest friend. Hey, tell me, why didn’t you bring that blonde one from before? Were you afraid I would say something? Let your secret slip?” Kiku pressed his lips into a thin line and willed himself to stay calm. His exterior shell was blank. Objective.

“Alfred has nothing to do with this.”

“I never said that he did. I was just curious. Does he even know who you are?”

“Who I  _ was _ ,” Kiku corrected. His voice was firmer than it has ever been before and Yao knew better than to push him any further. He finished the bun, folded the wrapper into a neat square, and tossed it into the trash can. It’s almost meticulous how he did it, going to the lengths of using his foot to close the bin rather than touch the sticky handle. 

“Who else lives here with you?” Kiku asked, resisting the urge to kick a piece of garbage across the floor. Yao played dumb.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He had his arms crossed over his chest and eyes rooted firmly in whatever was right above Kiku’s head. 

“I’m supposed to believe a clean freak like you trashed this place on your own?” Kiku scoffed to force down what could have been commiseration in his voice.

“I guess I should learn to expect lies from you.” Yao pretended as if he didn’t hear him, and if Kiku’s words had any effect on him at all, he didn’t show it. 

“You came for this, right?” He disappeared behind a heap of unpacked cardboard boxes and emerged moments later with a dusty yellow messenger bag. In pink letters, Mei’s name was embroidered on the front. It was heavy, and he dropped the weight on the dining room table with a satisfying thump.

“Her bookbag.” Kiku hated how his voice lost its venom. He’s softer.

“We don’t have a lot of stuff. Everything she owned is in here. Take it if it’ll satisfy your curiosity.” Yao nudged the bag into Kiku’s hands with an air of stilted nonchalance and something that resembled restrained sorrow. He cleared his throat.

“ _My_ curiosity? You don’t want to know…?”

“I’ve known for weeks. How could I not? I tried to warn her but she’s  _ fifteen _ . She doesn’t know what danger is. How am I supposed to explain to a child that she can’t stay out at night? Or talk to certain people? Or dress a certain way?” Kiku clutched his fingers into tight fists.

“Who is they?”

“Oh, you want me to tell you? So I can get killed, too? You’re a fucking cop.”

“We have witness protection for that.” Yao remained silent, quietly deliberating to himself. He was convinced that there was nothing to be done, and a small part of Kiku agreed. They both knew what sort of neighborhood Yao lived in, and neither of them were naive enough to believe that all crime could be vindicated. But that wasn’t to say he wouldn’t try. Alfred’s optimism was rubbing off on him.

“You should testify. In court. There are other girls who you can still help.” Yao scoffed.

“Girls that are still alive.”

“Yes,” Kiku sighed, “but for how much longer?” Yao was quiet then, content to wring his hands together anxiously. His hair is thin, oily, and it hangs in greasy sheets around his face, his trademark hair elastic seeming to have disappeared along with Mei. His eyes were dark and dull, all signs of mirth and joy absent, and they sunk deep and helpless into his cheekbones. He was a living, breathing skeleton. All things he ever lived are left behind, all the fears that flickered through his mind, all the sadness that he’d come to own.

“You want some time to think about it?”

“Yeah.” 

— — —  

Kiku was aware that he was being uncharacteristically silent. He was a quiet person, not one to speak unless he had something to say, but it was odd for him to sit in the passenger seat of their rental with his hands crossed in his lap, eyes boring into the peeling flesh around his fingertips. His stare was unblinking and unrelenting, pausing only every few minutes to gaze at the road and make sure they were heading in the right direction. He wasn’t dissociating at least. He was very aware of where he was and that was more than he could say for the majority of the time he was awake. He noticed the furtive glances that Alfred threw his way, but couldn’t be bothered to speak up and assuage his worries. Instead, he stewed in his own thoughts. Thoughts of Yao, thoughts of Mei, thoughts of murder. Occasionally, thoughts of Alfred, as well.

“You okay?” Kiku nodded, but kept his eyes on his fingers. There was a hangnail on his right thumb threatening to peel all the way down to his palm. It took all of his mental strength not to rip it to shreds.

“You haven’t said anything, though.”

“I’m thinking.”

“Oh.” They passed at least a dozen street corners, each one of them marked by someone in need, playing the guitar for cash or simply shaking a hat and hoping for the best. As they left the deep inner city, it became less common. Alfred found that he could begin to look at the road without feeling guilty.

“You know that ice cream place by my house?” Kiku looked up. There was a small 50s-esque diner near his home that sold milkshakes and ice cream exclusively. Everything there tasted like heaven on earth, and it was open all year-round. Alfred was known to buy a cone even in the dead of winter. It was sort of a ritual for him. The day that he felt as if it was too cold for ice cream would be the day he died.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to get some? I mean, not now obviously. We still have a report to write up, but later. Maybe tomorrow night or something? You like pistachio, right —  Fuck!” Alfred swerves off the road and onto the curb, narrowly avoiding a reckless driver who subsequently flipped Alfred off from out of her window.

“You’ll be busy, won’t you?”

“Doing what?” Alfred asked. Kiku was silent for a long time, long enough for Alfred to clench his fingers around the wheel with nerves. 

“There’ll be a funeral. For Mei, I mean. I think it would be a nice gesture if you attended and build a rapport with the community.”

“Smart. You think they’ll be anyone of note there?” Kiku shrugged, eyes still begging to be glazed over. Or staring at a bunch of numbers on a page. Anything but the passing gray of New York.

“Yao, for one.”

“Yao?” Kiku could tell just by the tone of his voice that Alfred was not mad yet, only slightly annoyed, and for someone who could blow up at any little thing, it was best to tread carefully. He began to drum his fingers on his knees, the hangnail on his thumb still throbbing all the while.

“He’s possibly willing to reveal Mei’s murderers. I mentioned testifying in court. Perhaps if he heard it from someone else—”

“Yao hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you. He just hates that he doesn’t control me anymore. You remind him of the live I chose to live, not the one he forced me to.” The words fell out of Kiku’s mouth before he could think through them. They rushed out, tumbling over themselves in a mad dash to escape where they’d been kept locked up in his brain.

“Don’t tell him I said that.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Alfred said as he pulled into one of the parking spots the old chief had gifted Kiku for being such a “good sport,” which really meant taking a slash in your paycheck without frowning.

“Okay. I’ll go.”

“Great,” Kiku could barely bring a pleased smile to his face before Alfred was running over him again.

“You have to come with me.” Any semblance of smile melted off Kiku’s face. He gave in, peeling the hangnail in a moment of weakness. 

“Yao will be hostile if he sees us together, you know that. It’ll only drive him away.” 

“I can’t exactly go alone. I’ll be the only white person, and wouldn’t that be sort of suspicious?” Alfred bit his lip, averting his eyes to his feet and how they rested on the acceleration pedal.

“And I know you don’t want me in your business, so I’m not trying to do that. Honest. But it’s very obvious that Yao still cares about you. Whatever he did or didn’t do that made you feel like he had all the power, just know that it’s different now. You have the leverage here. I mean, you have everybody at NYPD right behind you. Thousands of employees, billions of dollars, the brightest forensic minds in the world. And, you know, I’m always here. My point is —  Kiku Honda is not powerless anymore.” Alfred reached out and placed one hand on Kiku’s. It’s tentative at first, their flesh barely grazing against one another’s. Alfred tested the waters, glancing up to see Kiku’s reaction before wrapping his entire fist into his hand. His hands are considerably smaller than Alfred’s own and also considerably colder, but Alfred can’t help but feel like his hand was made to be held in his own. His fingers burned at the touch, too hot to stay connected but too enjoyable to pull apart. Kiku’s eyes are glued to the tiny union they’ve made. They made an odd sight, two men huddled in a car so cold they could see their breaths, cradling each other's hands as if their very lives depended on it. Kiku ripped his hand away, the moment shattered, and Alfred jumped to explain himself.

“Sorry. That was weird.”

“It’s fine,” Kiku cleared his throat and didn’t dare to look Alfred in the face, “I suppose that I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” His voice sounded hollow, but Alfred wasn’t sure how to fix it. Kiku exited the car, gave Alfred a courteous nod, and went on his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel kind of bad for not uploading for like... 3 months. oops!!!!and for my upload after three months to take one step forward and about 3 billion back. anyway!!! hope you liked the chapter despite that. 
> 
>  
> 
> p.s: someone please tell me they caught the sa reference


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